Treason
by french-charlotte
Summary: A blood elf goes on a scouting mission that turns his life upside down. Held captive in Stormwind as a prisoner, can he make it back to warn his people of a great treason that will take place?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All concepts belong to Blizzard. I own nothing, other than the characters. **

**This is my first WoW story. I'm sorry if some of the storylines aren't consistent with the lore. This is just an idea I had in my head that I thought I would explore. The characters and their personalities are my own. I play WoW but I'm not all that savvy with the backgrounds and main line characters so I'm sorry if somethings a bit off. As always, please read and review! **

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The sun rose to its zenith as a lithe figure moved about in the shadows. The heat emitting from the vapors seeping through the cracks in the barren dirt was less than comfortable to the individual. Regardless of the uncomfortable environment, the young paladin was well trained; despite the cruel temperature. He was taught early on not to give much heed to such trivial matters. Battles continued with or without a comfortable breeze, and he was taught accordingly. When in battle, the only matter on a warriors mind is the sword in hand and the weapon in the enemy's grasp. Temperature was a privilege; one that so many aren't kindly rewarded. Thus were the trainings of the Horde.

Quickening his pace, Deimos soundlessly made his way to another shadow to hide his identity, where he swiftly took a slow pace. After such a long trek to conceal his presence, his was not about to allow impatience be his downfall. His keen hearing picking up the movement of walking in the distance, the young blood elf quickly put himself up against the structures wall. Holding a breath, Deimos felt the cool limestone wall on the back of his head as he listened to the footfalls come closer. Unconsciously, his left hand fell on the hilt of his sword resting on his back as he braced himself for a confrontation. The paladin was well prepared for an altercation, if need be, though he was under direct orders for a simple reconnaissance scouting. Feeling a grin spread across his face, Deimos figured one or two dead Alliance members wouldn't hurt. Hearing the footsteps stop around the corner from his current hiding place, Deimos felt his fingers curl around the hilt, preparing to unsheathe the sword if provoked.

His pointed ears heard the owner of the footsteps give out an aggravated sigh before the sound began to disappear where it came from. The paladin released both the breath he was holding and the hilt of his sword, allowing his figure to become more relaxed. While killing several Alliance would heighten his day, he wanted to get through the mission the fast and easiest way possible. Reconnaissance missions were usually reserved for lower ranks or punishment to those of higher stature. His was the latter. Shaking his head at the thought, the elf continued his stalking along the foundation of the structure he was sent to scout. Or rather, the meeting that was taking place within the structure.

Intel from Ranger-General Halduron Brightwing had said that there was unusual activity in the central southern region of the Burning Steppes. Usually, the blood elves, or even the Horde for that matter, wouldn't bother themselves with futile information. However, Brightwing had been particularly interested with the amount of activity bustling in the area as of late and had ordered a scouting mission. The young paladin downcast his eyes at the remembrance of being given the recon mission. Such a menial task for such a decorated warrior hardly seemed fitting, the elf mused. But it was used as a punishment for his earlier actions. Or rather, his lack of actions…

The sound of talking stopped Deimos in both his tracks and his thoughts. Quickly, his elven hearing was able to pick up the location of the speaker being around the corner of the wall he was stalking across. Tilting his head slightly, he deduced the voice wasn't speaking Thalassian or Orcish. Rather, it was speaking Common. Not having spoken the language for quite some time, Deimos had to consciously think about the understanding of the words being spoken.

"Steele, we should wait for the rest of the caravan. It's not wise for us to continue on without them."

A second voice replied. "And wait for the trolls to finish the meeting? Not a chance."

Brows together, Deimos cocked his head to the side in confusion. _Why would trolls be here? Were they told the intel as well? _

A new voice chimed in. "There's four of us and who knows how many of them. Odds are not in our favor this time, Steele. We should wait."

Whoever this Steele character was, he refused to back down. "What's wrong? You two getting too old for a decent fight? We'll be fine."

"I really think we should-"

The Steele character curtly cut the other off. "Listen to your commanding officer? I think that's a grand idea. Now, we continue on with the quest."

Running a hand through his cropped blond hair, Deimos was utterly confused. He was under the impression, based on the intel, that the Alliance was conducting gatherings. Based on what he was hearing, it seemed the intel was slightly skewed. Holding his breath, the paladin walked with as much agility as he could muster to get a view of the group. Peaking around the corner of the building, Deimos kept a trained hand on the hilt of his sword.

His unnatural green eyes took in the scene before him. Three male humans were lowly crouched to the ground, hiding behind what looked to be wooden crates. They all looked to be in their late 30's, though their bodies still had the physique of seasoned soldiers. A belt adorned each human, with a sheathed sword hanging from it, and a polished shield on their backs. Almost immediately, Deimos spotted the all too familiar blue and gold insignia fashioned upon each male's upper arm. Alliance.

_I thought he said there were four of them_…. The young paladin scanned the area looking for the last Alliance member. However much he scanned, he didn't see a fourth human. Shifting uneasily on his right foot, the elf knew he would have to watch his back with the Alliance being present. While he didn't doubt he could take two, or even all three of the humans, he wasn't content knowing a fourth was somewhere likely stealthed.

The intel had said that the structure had an open roof; which made a great place for listening in on conversations. The easiest and fastest route to the roof would be to climb from the outside. The intel also revealed that on the northwestern wall, the limestone was staggered and rough. This would allow for an easy scaling. Flexing his hands open and shut, Deimos jabbed his hands into an upper section of open limestone on the wall and silently pulled himself up.

_This is a job for an intermediate rogue. _Not _me. I should be on the front in Northrend… _Deimos effortlessly pulled his weight up to another crack in the wall. The climb wasn't tough for him but with the plate armor, it was a challenge to maneuver. He felt his palms smack the flat surface of the rooftop upon finishing the climb. _Almost done with this mission…_

Gazing around himself, the elf took in his surroundings and readjusted his sword. The roof looked worn down, similar to the rest of the building, and was made of the same off white limestone. In the middle of the roof, there was a large opening. It was here that Deimos figured he would overhear any meetings going on inside. There were several unmarked wooden crates and barrels strewn around the roof. Moving swiftly to a crate located close to the opening in the floor, Deimos assumed a crouched position and peered into the opening. He couldn't stop the gasp at the scene before him.

At a wooden table nearly two stories under him, there were four trolls sitting. Two were walking around the table with arms crossed, while three others stood by the door with weapons ready. With wide eyes, the elf was unable to scan the rest of the room with his limited view. But he was sure that there were more trolls prowling around the building. On the wooden table lay a map, though Deimos was unable to see what was illustrated on it. Similar to the Alliance insignia's, the red and black mark on each trolls' upper arm was impossible to miss. It was the same mark that Deimos had on his arm as well.

_Maybe they got here before I did… maybe they killed the Alliance members who were holding the meeting._

With a shake of his head, Deimos crouched lower to conceal himself as a troll looked his way. _No, it doesn't make sense. Why would they be here too? And so many for just a recon? What were those humans doing here as well then? _

Hearing movement beneath him, Deimos leaned slightly to the side of the crate to gain a better view.

"Vol'jin said he wants it done quietly but fast. A group of rogues seems to be the logical choice," a troll with wild red hair said in Zandali. Deimos, not being fluent in the language, had to put a great amount of concentration in deciphering.

"Rogues are slow. I think a full battle will keep them side tracked, allowing for a small group to complete the task," another troll responded. Deimos, trying to keep up with the translation, slightly shook his head in confusion. _Battle? Task? What are they talking about? _

The red hair troll growled in frustration. "Reinforcements will be fast to his side. Rogues can stealth and kill Lor'themar before any are the wiser."

Feeling his jaw go slack, Deimos could have sworn he heard his heart skip a beat. _Kill Lor'themar? Kill the blood elves' leader? I must have translated that wrong. These are members of the Horde!_

"When did Vol'jin say he wanted it completed by?" A troll walking around the table asked.

The red haired troll turned to the moving figure. "He wants the elf dead by Midsummer festival."

Mind going a million miles a second, Deimos knew what he heard was true. It was a fact that trolls and blood elves were ancient enemies to one another and simply tolerated each other for the Hordes benefit. He needed to inform his people of this… treason. Did the Orcs or Tauren know? The Forsaken? Did Brightwing know all of this in his intel? _No, he must not have. Surely he would have sent a larger party to intercept this meeting._

The trolls had resumed their conversation while the elf was digesting the new found information. Somehow, the young paladin found it increasingly difficult to translate the foreign tongue. The thought of deciphering it made him sick to his stomach. While listening to the rest of the meeting might have provided further details, Deimos knew the importance of the information he heard. He needed to get to Silvermoon… and fast.

Rolling back on the balls of his feet, Deimos was preparing to leave the roof until movement to his right caught his trained eye. Unfortunately, he was too slow in reacting and only managed to unsheathe his sword before he felt the familiar sensation of steel against his throat. A whispered curse left his lips at the situation of being caught off guard. Bringing his sword up to defend against the assault, Deimos rolled expertly to the left, the dagger leaving a thin trail of blood on his neck. The stealthed human rogue rematerialized as Deimos hastly swung his sword in the direction of the attack. A half grin on the humans face was all the elf needed to confirm the burning sensation on his neck. The blade was poisoned.

Angrily, the sin'dorei wiped his hand across the bleeding wound on his throat while the human tauntingly spun his daggers in his hands. Fighting the rogue wouldn't be particularly difficult for the paladin but he knew he was fighting the clock. Whatever poison was on the blade was now coursing through his blood, just waiting to take effect. Deimos didn't have the luxury of time to inspect the wound to determine the poison. He had to dispose of his enemy quickly before the poison took a devastating effect; whatever it may be.

Hands gripping his sword, the elf charged the rogue quickly with his sword up high. The rogue easily sidestepped the attack, bringing one strong dagger up to feign a swip at Deimos. Jumping back slightly at his opponent's blade, the paladin avoided the assault. With amazing speed, the rogue was quick to bring his other dagger up to follow through with his attack. As Deimos swiftly swung his sword in the air to block, he felt his arms begin to shake under the strain of the swords' weight. However, it was enough to block the assault to the exposed skin on his throat. The rogue, sensing the poison taking its toll, was quick to retaliate with a spin around the blood elf. Upon finishing his revolution, the human darted his blade in a forward sweeping motion at the tender skin on Deimos' lower back. The paladin tried to follow the agile human in his maneuver but found his feet wouldn't cooperate with him. Instead, it turned into a clumsy turn with his sword daftly rising in a feeble attempt to thwart off the human.

The rogue smiled to himself as he felt the dagger take a clean cut into the skin. Jumping back several paces to observe the elf, the rogue kept his daggers ready in his trained hands. He knew it was only a moment's time before the poison on the second blade would take its effect on the elf's system as well.

Again Deimos tried to follow the rogue as he back peddled, a smile plastered on the humans face. And again, Deimos knew what the tingling on his lower back meant. Another poison. _This rogue is too much trouble…_ Facing the rogue, Deimos began to take a heavy step towards his opponent and raise his sword in another attempt to end the fight. Immediately when he felt his foot leave the ground, his vision turned fuzzy and the world began to spin. The weight in his hands seemed unbearable to hold and he shamefully heard his sword drop to the limestone with a clatter.

Stopping his pursuit, Deimos willed the world to stay still once again. "What did you do to me?"

The human raised an eyebrow in surprise at the question in Common. "You'll see… blood elf." He spat the last words out at the swaying sin'dorei.

Emitting a growl and ignoring the lethargic movements his limbs offered, Deimos resorted to charging the human unarmed. It was an ill-planned move but done out of desperation. The world tilted to Deimos but he kept his green eyes trained on his opponent; his ultimate destination. Quickly putting his daggers back into their sheaths, the rogue attempted to dodge the clumsy attack. To his surprise and dismay, the elf followed through with his assault and grabbed the human by the shoulders. Had the poison not been present, over powering the thin frame of the rogue would have been effortless to Deimos. However, he found his muscles straining to push the rogue back again the wooden crate behind him.

With wide eyes, the rogue was tossed backwards, the heavy weight of the paladin pushing him down. The crate broke underneath the weight of both men and they struggled for a split second to each gain an upper hand in the battle. Though the rogue lacked the paladin's strength, he had the agility and the effects of the poison on his side. With great effort, he hoisted himself on top of the elf, keeping a hand pushing back on the plated chest beneath him. The other hand quickly tried to send a punch across Deimos' face. The paladin expected it though and grabbed the moving limb with ease. Catching the rogue off guard with the defense, Deimos forced his muscles to push with all their might against the weight on top of him, sending them both into a brawl on the ground. Again, both fought for the dominance in the fight.

Some punches were thrown, most of which were from the human, before Deimos felt all the strength leaving his body. However much he willed, he couldn't force his muscles to cooperate with him. His blond hair was plastered to his forehead from the battle and the poisons. He eyes refused to keep focus on the human nearly ten inches from his face. The sides of his vision began to blacken and his lids begged to be closed. Cursing under his breath, Deimos gave one last shove with all his remaining strength into the human.

The rogue felt a gasp leave his chest as the hard impact from the elf forced him backwards. Grabbing onto the paladins forearms, the human felt the ground beneath him disappear and felt an unfamiliar sensation of falling. The two opponents had wrestled too close to the opening gap in the roof. Twisting in the air, the human was able to maneuver himself so he hovered above the paladin, still grasping onto his arms. Deimos seemed confused by the sudden change in environment and failed to respond fast enough. With a clatter, the two landed unceremoniously on top of the wooden table; Deimos breaking the rogues' fall.

Upon falling, Deimos let a grunt out as his back made contact with the piece of furniture. He heard the breaking of his ribs as the human fell on top of him and let out a strangled scream. The room continued to spin frantically and he struggled to take in breaths to his aching lungs.

The human also heard the snapping of ribs, shortly followed by the elf's scream. He didn't give the paladin much thought, however. Instead, the rogue quickly unsheathed his daggers at the predicament the sin'dorei had landed them in. Surrounding the pair were trolls, also with their weapons drawn. One with crazy red hair allowed his eyes to take in the human before him before his eyes lingered to the prone figure on the broken table. The troll felt his blood boil and his hand grip his bow tighter.

"Deimos…" The red troll took a step closer to the elf, who turned his head at the sound of his name. The rogue remained in a fighting stance, eyeing the surrounding opponents warily. He knew based on the sheer number of trolls littering the room, his chance for survival was minimal.

"You," Deimos began, unable to focus on individual figures anymore. Instead, he fought just to stay conscious. "I k-know…"

"Yes," the troll said, pulling an arrow from his quiver. "And we'll have to remedy this fast."

Before the troll could release the arrow into the young paladins' chest, a throwing star lodged itself into the trolls' upper arm, blood flowing freely onto his Horde insignia. Giving a hiss of pain, the troll looked up at the roof from where the assault originated from. With a frustrated growl, the troll pointed his projectile up at the roof.

The rogue whipped his head around as the troll pointed his bow to the sky. He couldn't help but feel a sigh of relief pass through his lips at the sight before him. Surrounding the opening on the roof were humans, all with their weapons aimed at the trolls. A strangled cry by one of the trolls by the door revealed more humans filling into the room, also weapons drawn. The red haired troll released his arrow into the chest of one of the humans on the roof before spinning to his right to avoid the flying attack aimed at him.

The humans gave out a battle cry as they released their pointed projectiles at the trolls. The red haired troll yelled a line of Zandali, battling his way to the back corner of the room, the other trolls following suit as well. Deimos, through half lidded eyes, stared up at the bright sky, his breath hitching in his throat as he struggled to remain awake. The commotion going on sounded like it was miles away and the elf couldn't bring himself to pay any heed to it. The pain in his chest burned with each intake of breath, yet his lungs were screaming for more air.

The clouded vision of the sky was suddenly gone and replaced with what Deimos assumed to be a blurry face. The face leaned closer to the elf with his mouth moving. Deimos was sure the face was talking but he could no longer decipher the voice from the background noise. Everything felt and sounded so very far away. Unable to keep battling consciousness, the young sin'dorei felt his lids close and blackness overcome him.

The trolls had maneuvered themselves into a corner of the room. During which one stood in the center of his fighting comrades, chanting to himself as his hands began to glow with each word. Steele, a long time seasoned warrior, knew this tactic immediately.

"Kill the mage!" Somehow, he knew his shout would go unheard. The trolls, if anything else, were well trained in communicating without words. Getting to that mage would be like waltzing into Ice Crown and killing the Lich King. It wasn't a simple command. Those trolls were going to protect the mage at all costs, even if it meant each other's lives.

Sure enough, the mage stopped the chanting only to reveal a portal materialize in what used to be unused space. The trolls left standing were quick to respond to their escape route and abruptly stopped their fighting to enter it. Steele watched with displeasure as his opponents figures slowly evaporated from the space they used to stand in, until nothing was left. Sighing to himself, he sheathed his sword and replaced his shield on his back, thinking back on what had transpired.

Steele and the other two warriors, waiting for the rogue to finish the recon on top of the building, heard the battle ensuing on the roof. Just as Steele began to attempt to scale the side of the building to aid his comrade, the caravan of soldiers from Stormwind arrived. His initial feeling of relief was short lived as he knew his friend was likely fighting for his life above them. Being fast and to the point in his command, Steele directed soldiers with long distanced weaponry to the roof while the rest infiltrated the ground entrance. An all over assault wouldn't allow the trolls an escape exit.

Upon entering the building, Steele instantly began the ground assault. The air strike had begun only moments before, allowing the ground fighters to follow up with a more direct route. Steele had taken little notice in the trolls congregating together until it was too late. It was a predetermined strategy, Steeled figured, and the trolls were well prepared for it. The mage was unable to be killed and the trolls escaped through the conjured portal.

Shaking his head at the memories, Steele glanced around at the fallen soldiers. Indeed, the trolls put up quite a fight, however short lived it may have been. Letting his eyes glance over the scene, he rested his gaze on a figure lying on what looked to be, at one point, a table. Hovering over the figure was Williams, his rogue comrade who had battled on the roof. Williams gave the unmoving figure a couple quick shakes on his shoulder before glancing up and meeting Steele's gaze. The rogue gave a jerk with his head to signal his commanding officer to come to him. Wordlessly, Steele moved towards the two figures. The surrounding soldiers didn't pay them any attention; those abled were attending to the wounded. Meeting his destination, Steele gave Williams a quick look over to assess any injuries. Satisfied that the younger man wasn't seriously injured, he followed Williams' gaze down to the prone body.

"What the…" Steele's brows scrunched in confusion. "What happened?"

Bending over the unconscious blood elf, Steele was quick to check for a pulse. Placing his fingers on the elf's neck, he took in the clammy skin and shallow blade wound. Content to have felt the pumping of blood under his fingers, Steele gave the blood elf a quick glance over as he did with Williams.

Williams took in a shaky breath and ran an unsure hand through his shaggy brunette hair. "I'm not even sure myself. Found him on top of the roof with me. From the looks of it, he seemed to be scouting too," Williams shook his head in thought. "Didn't seem right to me, ya know? Why send a blood elf to scout a troll meeting when you're part of the same faction, yeah?"

Williams took in another uneasy breath and continued, averting his gaze. "After hearing the trolls' plan, well, I had to do something. Didn't want to kill the kid so just poisoned him. Got him with crippling and mind numbing. Kids got some fight in him, I'll give him that."

Still crouched down to the young elf, Steele ran a couple fingers over the delicate slice on his throat. The cut wasn't deep and, from the looks of it, had stopped bleeding a short while ago. The older man took in a line of blood running down the paladin's chin from his split lip, most likely from a punch. There was an audible wheezing coming from the sin'dorei's intake of breath. Moving his gaze down to the elf's chest, Steele lifted the plate armor up enough to run a hand under it. Gingerly, he probed several ribs until the young elf gave a pained moan and shifted his head, still unconscious. With a sigh, Steele leaned back away and looked at his friend.

"Looks like a couple busted ribs," Steele began. "You did quite a number on him. Where's the other wound?"

"Lower back," the younger man simply replied.

"Mmm," Steele looked at the elf again in thought and gave a sigh. "We'll bring him back to Stormwind." The older warrior glanced at the rogue. "We'll want a full report on what you heard immediately, including your meeting with our friend here." He signaled at the unmoving elf.

The rogue gave a small nod, eying the blood elf warily. If what he overheard was true, there could be major ramifications in regards to the Horde. But then again, it had little to do with the Alliance so the news may not come as a shock to most. In fact, they may find the news enlightening. A civil war in the Horde could cause their defense and strategy to dwindle, allowing the Alliance a stepping stone in this never ending war. Regardless, the elf would be most likely questioned about his information in terms of the Horde. Eying the injured figure, Williams was sure the elf was in for a rude awakening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, and even those who didn't but read the story. I'm hoping to finish writing chapter four by the end of this week. Expect chapter 3 on Friday. Again, Blizzard owns everyting. **

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The rogue shifted his weight from his left foot to his right nervously. Rubbing his clammy hands against the front of his leather hide pants, Matheus Williams willed his rapidly beating heart to slow to an even pace. No longer bearing the weight of his weapons, his figure assumed a more relaxed stature to it. However, he still rested on the balls of his feet, as if anticipating a battle to break out. While he was still regarded as relatively young in his late 20's, Matheus was a well trained soldier and a deadly being on the battleground. He was decorated from years of reconnaissance scouting's and honorary achievements against the Horde. With being an accomplished linguist as well, reconnaissance was a specialty of his. Matheus was recognized as one of the most well known assassination rogues, his aim with his poisoned blades being deathly accurate. While a very fearsome foe to be up against on the battlefield, he was a nervous wreck when it came to debriefings or meetings with his superiors; which was the situation he presently found himself in. Swallowing several times to try in vain to allow moisture to his parched throat, Matheus turned his attention to the panel of his superiors and king.

"I was stealthed when the elf got to the roof," Matheus gave a shrug. "Been up there for probably ten minutes before he showed up. He looked like he was scouting too, so I just let him do his thing."

Taking another break to try to gather moisture in his mouth, Matheus studied the group of humans in front of him. At the center of the table was King Varian Wrynn, arms resting on the table in front of him, his posture leaning forward. His face was nearly unreadable to Matheus as it held a very passive expression. But there was a hint of interest in his eye. To his immediate right was Jes-Tereth, who had her head cocked to the side as she listened to his tale. On the left of Wrynn was Warren Steele, a long time friend of Matheus' and commanding officer on many occasions. Though his hair had signs of gray mixed between the dark blonde, he was one of the most admirable warriors the Alliance had to offer. Quick with a blade in both mind and strength, Matheus looked up to his commanding officer in many ways. Warren was leaned back with a confused and troubled look in his eye, arms crossed over his chest. On Warren's right was Marcus Jonathan, a general with a broad stature and intimidating posture. His face had an almost permanent scowl on it, and Matheus found himself on the receiving end of it. Moving out from the initial four were Wrynn's advisors, most of them with confusion painted on their faces.

Warren, taking notice of the rogues growing discomfort, leaned over the table to push his glass of water forward slightly. The gesture was immediately picked up by the rogue who moved forward at amazing speed. Gulping down the water, the rogue gave a small smile in thanks to his friend, who held an amused expression. Licking his lips, the rogue continued his story.

"So, I watched the trolls from behind a crate. Kind of similar to what the elf was doing," he paused to gather his words. "The trolls were saying that Vol'jin wants Lor'themar dead. I saw that damned Horde symbol on each of them. It's not like this is a renegade group doing it for their own advantage, right? Well, anyways," he paused to lick his lips again and shake his head a bit, "the elf seemed pretty surprised by the information too. His face sure as hell showed it. Looked like he was getting ready to make a run for it so, I, well, stopped him."

Wrynn leaned forward slightly. "Stopped him? Care to elaborate?"

Matheus gave a shrug of his shoulders and downcast his eyes. "Got him with crippling poison. Didn't take long for it affect him. Followed up with a mind numbing. Figured we'd might want him for…," he paused in his musings, his brows going together in concentration as he shook his head in confusion and anger. "Just… something seemed off. Wrong almost. I don't know how to better explain it. Figured it'd be best to incapacitate than kill, right?"

Warren, arms resuming their position crossed over his chest, bore his confused and frustrated eyes into the rogue. "And how did you end up in the middle of the trolls?"

Matheus gave a dry chuckle that shook his shoulders. "Kid tried to wrestle me. Somehow, he managed to toss us over the edge." With a grin on his face, the events replayed through the rogues mind. While it wasn't the least bit humorous at the time, it held little humor when thinking back on it. Suddenly, a dark thought crossed the rogue's mind and a frown replaced the grin. "You know, it was interesting. One of the trolls, I think he recognized the elf. He even tried to kill him by putting an arrow through his chest," the rogue's face contorted into concentration. "I think he called him by his name. Called him Dimos or something like that."

Warren felt his blood go cold and his face go ashen white. "Deimos…" he replied in a strangled whisper, his eyes cast down on the floor. His arms broke their crossed position as he leaned forward on the table in thought. "Deimos Ares'mar."

Heads whipped around to the older warriors direction at the odd reaction Warren displayed. Marcus was the first to have realization seep into him as memories came flooding back. His fist curled angrily at the thought of the elf being within his beloved city's walls. "Ares'mar?" Marcus asked through clenched teeth. "How can you be sure?"

Warren glanced up from his reverie to meet the generals steel gaze, returning it back with ease. "When we brought him back to the city, I noticed his necklace. It looked very familiar but I couldn't place my finger on it. It was his family's mark."

Matheus was more than confused; he was close to frantic. Completely baffled by what they were saying, his eyes lingered from Warrens' and Marcus' angry gaze to the Kings continued passive and unreadable one. "Wait…," the rogue crocked out, eyes darting around the room. "Who? What are you talking about?"

Warren, breaking eye contact with Marcus, heaved a heavy sigh, bringing his arms back into his chest to a closed posture. Turning his glance at the rogue still standing awkwardly in front of the panel of humans, he took in the bewildered expression on his face. Yes, Matheus was thoroughly and indefinitely confused.

"Years ago, back when the blood elves were fighting against the Scourge with the Alliance, I fought side by side next to Tharsis Ares'mar. He was ruthless on the battleground," Warren shook his head in disgust at the memories. "Didn't believe in taking prisoners. He was a 'kill first, don't ask questions' kind of warrior. We had a lot of falling outs. Yes, he had honor, but it was very twisted and dark."

Marcus gruffly let out a humorless chuckle. "If you want to call it honor."

Warren, sparing Marcus a quick glance, continued his explanation. "When we… were no longer aligned with the blood elves, he became bitter and more hateful towards us. Particularly humans. He must have stayed in Quel'Thalas because I've run into him several times in battle. His forces are not to be trifled with."

"Some of our bloodiest battles," Marcus chimed in quietly, anger still laced in his voice. "He helped arrange for that assault on Stormwind nearly four years ago." Matheus felt a shudder rack his spine. 'Assault' was a kind word for it. The aftermath revealed it to be more a genocide. "So many people…"

Matheus found it easy to avert his eyes as Marcus' voice cracked. It was no secret that Marcus' kin were ruthlessly slaughtered during the assault. Marcus, standing guard at the Keep to protect the king and his young son, was unable to offer the needed protection to his family. Matheus fought in the assault and thankfully walked away with his heart still beating and his limbs still intact; not a luxury many of the residents were given.

With a shaking voice, Matheus broke the uncomfortable silence weighing heavily on each inhabitant in the room. "Yeah, but that's Tharsis Ares'mar. This is Deimos…" he lingered off.

To everyone's utter surprise, it was the king that responded. "His son."

The advisors, who were as hopelessly as lost as Matheus, seemed to begin grasping the implications of their words. Jes, however, shook her head as a thought came to her. "It's not fair to judge someone just by being one's offspring. What intel do we have on Deimos himself?"

Marcus shifted uneasily in his chair, his hard gaze never faltering. The anger and hatred were still very prevalent in his voice. "Strong paladin on the battleground but I haven't heard anything particularly morbid… yet. Though I'm sure his father has trained him in a similar way."

Warren shook his head with a sigh. "I'd have to visit the library. Nothing stands out in my mind, other than some run of the mill battle debriefs. I'll read up on a couple books before paying our guest a visit." He directed the last sentence to the king, who nodded solemnly in response. "However, I believe we've gone off on a tangent. Williams, do you have anything else to conclude about your debriefing?"

Matheus jumped slightly as all the attention was once again averted to him. "Um… I don't think so. I mean, the caravan saved our asses, the elf passed out, and I'm sure you've heard the rest of the battle from other debriefs."

Wrynn nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed we have." Pulling his hands together in a grasp, the king gave a sigh. "But now we're riddled with a question: what do we do with this information about Lor'themar?"

The question, however innocent enough the intent, was a loaded one. The Alliance members shifted uneasily in their chairs, diverting their gazes from one another at the prospect of answering the question. The advisors even seemed to ponder on the question, not quite sure if it was meant to be taken rhetorically or not. Marcus, his angry expression softening at the slightest, downcast his eyes in concentration. Warren looked evenly ahead, not quite sure how to respond as he wasn't sure himself the answer. Jes found her quill increasingly interesting as she also pondered the answer to the question. The uncomfortable rogue at the front of the room shifted nervously, wondering if the question was asked directly at him or everyone.

A small knock on the door pulled everyone from their mullings. The wooden door opened slowly to reveal a small boy, followed by a tired and slightly aggravated woman. Both were dressed in their night clothes, the woman with her hair messily held up in a bun on her head and lines of frustration on her face. The child's face was full of concern yet boyish happiness. "Father, are you going to read me a story?"

Wrynn felt his face fall into a smile and his eyes gloss over with happiness. "I'm sorry everyone, I promised my son a story before bedtime. If it would be acceptable with everyone else, we can conclude this meeting in the morrow, when the sun is half past day?"

It was more of a statement than a question. All the inhabitants of the room pushed their chairs back with scratching resonating on the stone floor. Silently, they sent their thanks to the small prince for calling an end to the meeting at such a stressful question. They knew, as well as the king, that it would allow them to muse over an answer throughout the night and discuss a solution the following day. Matheus seemed most relieved with the conclusion of the meeting, his lips unable to stop the sigh that emitted from them. Warren gave him a little smile at the gesture as he made his way over to the departing king. Gingerly, he placed a hand on his sovereign to get his attention.

Wrynn stopped to turn his attention to his commanding officer. "Yes, Steele?"

Warren addressed the king in a low voice. "If it would be my kings will, I would like to spend the remainder of my night in the library. I can visit the prisoner at dawn in the morrow. The poisons' and sedatives' effects should wear off around that time."

The king felt a tugging on the sides of his mouth that slowly developed into a grin. With a shake of his head, Wrynn placed a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder. "You have my permission, Warren. But after the day's events, you should really reconsider. Rest. Allow the prisoner to sit in the Stockades another night. I assure you Warden Thelwater is more than capable of handling him."

With a smile at his friend, Warren shook his head at the jab. "I don't doubt Thelwater's abilities. And I appreciate your concern, but if you need me, I shall be in the library."

His grin turning into a full-fledge smile, the king gave a couple friendly smacks on the warriors shoulder. "And this, my friend, is why you live alone."

Tossing his head back into a hearty laugh, the older male made his way over to the door. While they assumed their responsibilities as sovereign and commanding officer, Varian very much enjoyed the relaxed company of Warren. When not discussing tactic and strategy, the two were easy friends, forming a strong companionship. The king took comfort in knowing that, if need be, he had a friend he could turn to without having to worry about etiquette. His advisors regarded him as a king; never as a man, father, or soldier. Their duties were strictly to advise the on-goings of the kingdom, leaving little to no room for friendships to develop. It was not the case with Warren.

Leaving the meeting room, Warren easily navigated his way to the Keeps Royal library. The halls were deserted, minus the guards, as most everyone had concluded their days. The library was no different. Polished oak shelving made up the entire room, with books jammed inside the shelves. Tucked into a corner of the room were four chairs, all surrounding an equally polished oak table. Grabbing a scroll and quill, the warrior made his way to the first shelf full of books. He knew it would be a long night.

* * *

Pain and dizziness were the first sensations that Deimos were faintly aware of. Lack of breath and coldness came as a close second. Eyes still closed, he felt like his head was splitting in two. Bringing a hand up to his head in pain, he groaned while squirming a bit. Strangely, he felt rough and itchy material rub against his bare shoulders upon the movement. His chest felt as though someone was grabbing around his midsection and squeezing, not allowing the correct amount of air to enter his hungry lungs. Allowing a hand to travel to his chest, the young elf was surprised to find the lack of plate armor but instead what felt like bandages. Confused at his current state, Deimos forced his aching head to comply with him in remembering past events. He was given that dreadful scouting mission, heard the humans talking, saw the damned trolls, and then… ah, yes, the annoying rogue. A groan out of irritation and pain escaped his slightly parted lips as his hand again held his hurting head. The question of where he currently resided dawned on him as he felt the itchy material once again in his movements.

Forcing his lids to open slowly, Deimos' vision was first plagued by blurriness. Rapidly blinking and willing his head to clear, he was able to make out a darkened ceiling with the shadows of fire dancing on it. Staring at the ceiling, he realized he was laying flat on his back. His elven senses were heightened at the prospect of being in a foreign environment. Turning his head slightly to the left, the young elf took in his surroundings. He was definitely in a prison. The dark colored walls and shadows dancing across them helped confirm this as well as the smells. The putrid aroma of human waste and death filled his nostrils. It was enough to trigger his gag reflex which, combing it with his splitting head ache caused him to painfully roll to his left side to hang over his cot as he emptied his stomach on the floor. Bracing himself with his hands gripping the steel sides of the cot beneath him, Deimos painfully closed his eyes as the retching made the intake of breath even more difficult. He rested his head against the cool steel, willing the pain in his head to ease. Concentrating on his breath, Deimos sat silent for several beats before lifting his head to finish his inspection of his cell.

The cell was small, with his cot in the left back corner and what looked to be a makeshift toilet on the other side. The floor and walls were constructed of the same moist stone. Propping himself up on his elbows, the young paladin took in his own body.

Not surprisingly, Deimos was stripped of his weapon and plate armor. He was barefoot, his pants stopping just below the knee. The white linen shirt he once wore was gone, only to be replaced with off-white bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. Running a hand over his bare neck, Deimos found not only his necklace gone but also his rings. The only jewelry that remained was a lone earring in his left pointed ear. Still not quite sure where he was, Deimos ran a hand through his messy blond hair in thought. _Will the Horde come get me? Doubtful. I'm on my own for an escape plan._ Swinging his legs over the sides of the cot, he placed his bare feet on the cold stone and pushed himself up.

The elf realized his mistake too late as the world spun on an axel and the floor came up to meet him. Reflex's kicked in and he brought his hands up in time to stop the stone from reaching his already aching head. Breathing heavily, Deimos began to push himself back to his feet when he heard movement in front of him. Looking up from his spot on the floor, he saw a dark figure standing by the bars of his cell, one hand resting on a bar as he tilted his head forward.

"I'd take it easy if I were you," the figure said in Common, indicating to the young elf's current predicament.

Still breathing heavily, Deimos kept his eyes trained on the dark and mysterious figure. Though he doubted the individual could see it, the paladin mustered the best glare he could as he took in the silhouette of the visitor. Although he wasn't able to make out his facial features, Deimos easily spotted the sword hanging threateningly from his belt. He had short cropped hair, from what Deimos could see, and a broad posture. But not broad enough to be an Orc or Tauren. Based on his lack of height, he had to be a human. The mysterious man held himself in a confident aura, which seemed to strangely put Deimos at unease. His current position was vulnerable as it was. Shifting slightly, the light from one of the torches illuminated the figures right side, which allowed Deimos to spot the dreadful insignia on his arm. Alliance.

The visitor must have seen Deimos tense upon the discovery. He gave a small chuckle and glanced down at the blue and gold mark on his upper arm. Deimos gave a small swallow, still holding his glare, only to remember he was still half crouched on the floor.

"Yes," the man began, "you're in an Alliance prison." _Well, that confirms it_. Deimos, still keeping his eyes on the figure, slowly picked himself off the floor, blinking several times to try to filter out the blurred vision. "Like I said, I would take it easy. You're still feeling the effects of the poisons mixed with some sedation elixirs."

Putting his right hand on the cool stone to keep himself steady, Deimos refused to show this man any sign of weakness. The figure took a step away from the bars and turned slightly, allowing the torch to fully reveal his face. Deimos fought hard not to allow his face show surprise. It was one of the warriors he saw at the scouting mission.

"Ah," the older man replied, taking in Deimos' quick surprised expression. "You do remember me. Good. Now, I know you understand Common..."

Deimos shook his head in disbelief, only to regret it seconds after doing so. Slamming his eyes shut in annoying pain, he rubbed his forehead with his left hand. "Where…where am I?" His voice came out in a hushed whispered that took Deimos by surprise.

If his voice surprised the visitor, he didn't show it. "I told you, in an Alliance prison."

"But where?" Deimos pressed on, taking in the face of his visitor. It seemed both were observing each other with scrutinizing eyes. The man was older, with gray visible in his hair. He was several inches shorter than Deimos, which was relatively tall for a human. His eyes held curiosity and calmness but also mirth. The air around him was stiff, and Deimos assumed him to hold a position of superiority.

Warren took the time to inspect the young elf now that he knew more information about him. The intel said he just reached his twentieth birthday, and his face showed it. Though riddled with anger at his current situation, the elf still had a youthful appearance to himself. He stood at six feet and three inches, slightly taller than Warren. He had a well toned upper torso that showed off years of training and conditioning. His unnatural green eyes swirled with confusion and dizziness.

"Stormwind. You're being held in the Stockades," Warren didn't see much harm in letting him know. Deimos allowed the information to digest as he slightly nodded.

The young elf knew what the Stockades were. A highly guarded and defended prison, it was considered a maximum security. The conditions were notoriously as bad as the prisoners it held within its walls. From what he was told, prisoners were only released from the Stocks one way – death.

"Don't worry," Warren began, with a light joy in his voice, "you're only being kept here until your trial. We'll decide what to do with you after that, whatever your sentence may be."

Whipping his head up to meet the older man's gaze, Deimos returned it angrily. "Trial for what? What am I convicted of?"

Warren gave a light chuckle. _I'm getting too much enjoyment from this_. "For war crimes and terrorism, of course. You are a soldier in the Horde, and we're at war, boy," Warren paused to pull out a scroll, which he patiently opened, and continued in an innocent and light voice. "Let's see… I've got at least two thousand counts of first degree murder, which we can probably strike as genocide, aiding in the planning and executing of terrorist activities, such as the assault on Stormwind four years ago. You remember that, right Deimos?"

Pursing his lips in anger, Deimos let his arm drop from the wall as he approached the bars of his cell. Angrily, he grabbed the bars and leaned in closer to where the man was. "How do you know my name?"

With a smug smile on his face, Warren approached the bars and got within inches of the young elf's face. "Oh, I've read quite a bit about you, Deimos Ares'mar. Quite the biography," Warren broke the angry gaze the two held and indicated to a handful of scrolls in his clutch. "Hmm..." Opening up a scroll, Warren scanned the contents dramatically. "Father is Tharsis Ares'mar, a decorated warrior. One would think you'd follow in his footsteps, but you didn't. Looks like you started out in warrior training but changed to paladin." Warren looked up to the angry flushed face of the elf. "Why's that?"

Unable to answer due to rage, Deimos tried his best to harden his glare. _How dare this insolent human…_

"Don't feel like answering? That's fine, I'll just continue on then," Warren replied in a sweet voice. "Grew up without a mother, traveled around with your father and his battalion, and excelled through your teachings as a paladin. Saw your first battle at age twelve, led your first raid at age fourteen, and helped plan and carry through the assault on Stormwind at sixteen." Closing the scroll with a swift and loud slap, the older man approached the angry elf. "That's some resume you've got there. But I wonder, why would they send such a great soldier to do a lowly mission of scouting?"

The warrior patiently waited for a reply from the silent elf. However much he tried though, Deimos couldn't hide the surprised expression in his eyes at hearing this human know his life story. _Surprise_, Warren pondered as he kept his eyes exploring the green ones before him, _and fear. Good_.

Deimos shook his head in growing fury. His reply came out in a strangled whisper. "Screw off."

Feeling like he won a battle, Warren allowed a satisfied smile to adorn his lips. Yes, this blood elf may have been a well trained soldier on the battlefield, but he was still affected by taunts. Warren felt almost bad to submit such psychological torture to the youth, but quickly chastised himself by reminding him who it was.

"I like you Deimos," Warren said, taking a step away from the bars. "I think we'll be seeing a lot of each other. But for now, I have an appointment I can't be late for. Enjoy your stay. Al diel shala." Finishing up with a farewell in Thalassian, the older man gave a wave of his hand and stalked away with a victory.

With brute strength and boiling frustration, Deimos slammed his arms into the bars in protest and let a growl emit from his throat. He had played easily right into the warriors palm. Feeling his blood rush to his cheeks in burning shame, Deimos was humiliated with himself. With an aggravated sigh, he spun on his heels and approached his cot with disgust; both at himself and his current settings. Sitting on the thin mattress and itchy woolen blanket, Deimos crossed his legs under him.

_How did he get that much information on me? Perhaps the Alliance does have decent intelligence._ The young sin'dorei shook his head in frustration. _It doesn't matter. I need to get out of here to warn Silvermoon. And I somehow doubt that impudent human will realize the importance of this information for my people. I'll have to come up with another plan._ Glancing at a rat as it scurried across the stone floor in his cell; Deimos rested his head back against the cool stone. _An escape plan would be preferable. _

Closing his eyes in thought, Deimos thought back on earlier memories. He was always taught that properly trained and abled soldiers were never seen imprisoned. Simply, if one was held captive, it was obviously not capable in either defending themselves or scared of the alternative. Snapping his eyes open at the thought of the "alternative", Deimos felt sick. It was common knowledge that an Alliance member couldn't interrogate a corpse. To Deimos, suicide felt more than futile; to him, it seemed to be a coward's route. Eyes trained on the ceiling in thought, he knew his commanding officer and father didn't share the same thoughts. If he somehow managed to escape the clutches of the Alliance with his life and return to Silvermoon, Deimos knew what awaited him. Disappointment. He felt a foreign sensation of prickling in the corners of his eyes. He was trained from birth to be the perfect soldier, flawlessness and perfection the only acceptable standard. Glancing around his makeshift home, Deimos knew he landed far below the set norm.

* * *

Giving a wave of his hand to the last set of guards at the entrance of the Stockades, Warren greedily took in the fresh air Stormwind had to offer. The stench that made up the secure prison was enough of a death sentence for the prisoners. Indeed, the Stockades was an effective prison and Warren didn't doubt their newest prisoner would be less than comfortable in his new settings. Glancing down at his hands, Warren was visibly shaken from the encounter with the elf. Stopping at a bench by the canal, the older man pondered his swirling thoughts.

However much he forced his courage and strength to be strong and unprovoked visibly, Warren was in disbelief when he looked at the elf. The strong cheek bones and emotional eyes were nearly identical to those of his father. The angry glare emanating from Deimos was also on par with the older Ares'mar, where Warren assumed he learned it from. Running an uneasy hand across the nape of his neck, the warrior also felt confusion when he pondered the prisoner. While he sensed anger and fury seeping from the very core of the elf's being, Warren also sensed something smaller. Fear. Buried and hardly flickering in Deimos' eyes, his fear was struggling under his willful control of it. However much the elf wished it to disperse, the fear was ever prevalent, and the warrior sensed it immediately in the youth. _He may be impressive with a blade but he's still just a kid in a very daunting situation._

Shaking his head, Warren resumed his walk to his residence. Glancing up at the looming sun in the sky, he figured he had several hours time before the meeting with the king would take place, and hopefully conclude. While he was an able-minded negotiator and strategists, Warren didn't have a particular liking to the meetings. As a warrior, he felt most comfortable serving his kingdom with a sword in hand, not behind a table. However, he knew they were necessarily, and until they figured out what to do with the Horde currently residing in the Stocks, the meetings would be rather frequent.

Moving past the auction house, Warren could hear cries and pleas of the citizens bustling inside. He didn't prefer to travel through the trade district but it was the fastest route, and he was rather impatient to reach his destination. Turning right to enter a tunnel to leave the humming district, Warren saw a familiar figure standing in the tunnel, back leaned up against the stone in thought.

"Matheus," Warren called out, his friends head whipping up. "How are you?"

Giving a shrug, the younger man put on a half smile. "Been better. Not really looking forward to this conference we have. I was debriefed, so really I see no point in me being there."

Shaking his head in a friendly manner, the two fell into step together. "You were the only one present to scout the trolls. Of course you should be there."

The rogue gave a disgruntled shrug. "Did you see the kid?"

The warrior gave a short nod, his eyes downcast in thought. "He wasn't the least bit pleased. In fact," Warren offered the rogue a little laugh, "he was pretty livid."

Frowning to himself, the rogue surprised Warren with his reply. "Can't really blame him though. What would you do if you heard Wrynn was going to be assassinated?"

Stopping in his forward movements, the warrior turned towards Matheus. Eye's scanning over the troubled face of his friend, he gave a small sigh. "Yes, but we must remember who it is we're discussing here."

Pausing to hold the stare with Warren, the rogue gave a dramatic shrug before continuing on. "Just ignore me. I didn't get the best sleep last night and I think it's clouding my thoughts. Maybe I can tell Wrynn that… maybe he'd let me skip."

Warren chuckled to himself. "I wouldn't try it, my friend." Pausing at his reached destination in Old Town, the older man gestured with his thumb to a set of steps leading into a building behind him. The building was rustic and seasoned, similar to the surrounding structures. "I'm going to rest a bit before the gathering. Would you like to come in for a drink or two?"

Taking in the dark circles and bags under the older man's eyes, Matheus gave a small shake of his head. "No thanks. Think I'm going to hang around the Keep till it's time."

The two companions said their respected farewells, with Warren entering his silent house and Matheus continuing on his way. No inhabitant currently residing in the building, the rooms and halls seemed cold to Warren. Though never having a family or taken a wife, he had sadly gotten used to the feeling of loneliness. While it would be quite troublesome to most, Warren had come to accept his lot in life and adapted. He longed to serve his kingdom and sovereign, sacrificing the opportunity to care for a family along the way. With a sigh, Warren removed his shield and sword, placing it on a small table by the door. The house was in impeccable order and modestly decorated. Moving his way up the wooden stairs, Warren paused as he feet made contact with the flat second story floor. Glancing around, he regarded his empty house. To his immediate left were his chambers, door closed as if pleading for wanted privacy. Straight ahead of the warrior was his lavatory. To his right were two chambers, both of their doors were invitingly wide open. Eyebrows scrunched in thought, Warren couldn't remember the last time he entered the unused and vacant rooms.

Hand holding onto the door frame for support, Warren glanced into the bedroom closest to the bathroom. It was smaller of the two spares with a desk situated in center of the far wall. The polished wood was barren of papers or useful materials, a sign of its inuse. An equally polished chair was pushed neatly in place at the desk, waiting for an inhabitant. One wall was lined with a bookshelf, though only a fraction of the shelf space was utilized. Holding a sigh back, the warrior moved to the next unused room. It was slightly larger in size, with a simple bed centered against the far wall. The bed was big enough for two, though it was never slept in; its pillows and blankets never laid on. A closet was tucked into the left corner, which Warren didn't have to open it to know it was empty. Two windows bore the spring sun into the room, illuminating its bare contents. Shaking his head, Warren felt his feet begin to carry him towards his chambers on the other side of upper level. To live a life of isolation was a choice Warren would gladly make again. He had numerous tabards and medals to display his achievements for such a well trained warrior. However, the older man couldn't help the plaguing question at the back of his mind. Would he live to see those rooms occupied?


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again to those who read the last couple chapters and reviewed. It really means a lot to me to get some feedback. As promised, here's chapter 3. I finished up chapter 4 today and hope to have it published either Tuesday or Wednesday; depending on how writing chapter 5 goes. So far, the fifth chapter is coming along nicely but it's going to be a pivotal point in the story so I want to take my time with it.**

**Disclaimer: Other than my characters, Blizzard owns everything. **

* * *

_The sun beat down on his flexing worn muscles as he brought up his glimmering sword to block an onslaught. Feeling the backlash of the harsh meeting of swords trail up his forearms, Deimos didn't show a sign of it. He kept his trained muscles under control and strong. Breaking away from his opponent, he attempted to assault his foe with an upsweep of his weapon. His hands gripping the sword strongly, Deimos planted his feet roughly in the ground, bracing for a possible block. Sure enough, his blade barely made it to waist height before a strong and fast parry interrupted its movement. Dodging a sharp blade that attempted to cut his chest horizontally, the young elf let out a sigh of exhaustion and glanced at his opponent. Standing three inches taller, the older elf had a scowl plastered on his face. His should length blond hair was neatly pulled back and fastened away from his face. Green eyes meeting similar green eyes, Deimos looked worse for wear in comparison to his opponent. Sweat pour down his face like a faucet, dripping into his burning eyes. His hair was damp and plastered to his forehead, no longer its blond color. Both elves were bare chested, with gauntlets adorning their forearms. _

_Bringing his mind back to the battle at hand, Deimos barely had time to force his tired muscles to throw himself to the right to dodge the incoming of a sharpened blade. Swiftly bringing his weapon up in defense, the young elf didn't realize the feign until it was too late. With expert haste, his opponent spun on the balls of his feet, his sword making a shallow cut in the air in an effort to make contact with the young elf. Knowing full well he couldn't parry the swift attack, Deimos threw his body forward in an attempt to lessen the inevitable wound. He wasn't disappointed either. Rolling to the left away from his opponent, Deimos let a hiss of pain out of clenched teeth as he felt warm blood roll down his shoulder. It wasn't a serious injury, but an injury nonetheless. Wearing a frown on his face, the older elf gave a quick disapproving shake of his head. _

_The gesture ignited an angry fire in Deimos as he gripped his sword tighter; bringing it up with deathly speed, charging his foe. Swinging to the left, Deimos brought his sword down on his opponent, feeling the wound on his shoulder bleed as he aggravated it more. His was displeased as he heard his weapon make contact with a plated shield. Not giving it much thought, Deimos followed through with his planned attack. With a quick downward motion of his sword, he attempted to wound his opponent's legs. A grin on his face, Deimos felt a sword interrupt his feigned attack. Planting his right foot into the ground, the young elf brought up his left leg to the broad chest of his foe. With a grunt of strength, he thrust the older elf paces behind him, who landed with a pained groan. Praying, Deimos hoped it would be enough time. _

_Holding his sword limply in his hands, the young paladin began chanting the words for Holy Light to heal his aching shoulder and give him renewed strength. His body was exhausted from the raging onslaught his adversary offered him. Deimos was interrupted mid-chant when a plated object made hard contact with his forehead. Pain exploded behind his eyes as the young elf, interrupted from his spell, felt warm liquid begin to run down the side of his face. Looking up just in time to see a blade making its way for his throat, Deimos threw himself to his right, sword up in defense to block. Spinning on his feet, the paladin felt a growing head ache forming from the head wound. Preparing to side swipe his foe, Deimos had briefly left his left side unguarded. _

_It was all the older elf needed to gain the upper hand. Before Deimos could execute his assault, the young elf saw in the corner of his eye a well aimed kick make contact with his vulnerable lower left torso. Knocked unbalanced, Deimos lost his footing as he stumbled to the right, furiously trying to recover from the brutal attack. It was in vain, however, as he felt another well placed kick knock his sword out of his hands, rendering him disarmed. Sweat and blood mixing as they obscured his vision, Deimos barely saw the blade swing threatening towards him. Swiftly turning to the left to escape the oncoming sword, the back of his head exploded into pain as the young elf felt a hard impact with a shield. Falling painfully to his knees, the paladin knew the fight was over. _

_Before Deimos could gather his protesting muscles to rise, he felt a strong and firm hand tangle itself in his damp hair, gripping and yanking back with strength. Face in a grimace, Deimos found his vision filled with the blue sky as his head was forced painfully back, maddening the growing lump on the back of his head. Briefly struggling against his captor, the vice grip on the young elf's hair tightened and jerked back. Deimos felt the cold tip of a sword pressed lightly against his exposed and vulnerable throat, which halted his struggling to a standstill. Blinking furiously to see through the sweat, Deimos felt eyes boring down into him. Turning his gaze to his upper left, he met the gaze of his opponent, the obvious victor, who had a frown and darkened face. Hand still gripping the blond hair, the older elf applied more pressure to the sharpened tip threateningly. _

"_You were slow and careless," the older elf pressed, still holding the paladin in place. "Why?" _

_Swallowing against the question, the young elf attempted to return the steel gaze as he tried to catch his breath. "Been…been training since dawn..." Deimos trailed off as he turned his attention to the setting sun. _

_The older elf snarled at the answer, gripping the hair in a fist. Swiftly removing the sword, he retched the young elf's head back further in strength, who emitted a small groan, until the elf nearly fell over backwards at the action. Furious, the older elf threw the paladin forward, who landed with a skid on his hands and knees. _

"_Don't you ever use that as an excuse for your downfall, Deimos," the older elf bellowed over the panting paladin. "Battles can last for days, weeks even. We aren't given the luxury of breaks. I had thought you were stronger than that." _

_Deimos turned his head to take in the disappointed and angered glare of his father. While it angered the young elf to hear his words, he knew they were accurate. It was true that he had been training nonstop since day break but, had this been a real battle, his doubted his rival would have been kind enough to not push the sword through his throat. _

_Swallowing down both bile and his pride, Deimos brought himself up off the floor, distractedly wiping at the thin line of blood running down the side of his face. He inclined his head in submission. "You're right. Perhaps with more training I can correct my errors."_

_Tharsis looked his son up and down, regarding his current state. He took in the wounds and sweat that decorated Deimos' strong structure. However, he had put up a decent fight, catching the warrior off guard several times. "Indeed. Which is why you will continue to train. We will spar again tomorrow when the sun is half across the sky. I expect you to train until then." _

_The paladin's head whipped up to meet his father's unforgiving glare with one of utmost surprise. "Till tomorrow? That's nearly fifteen hours away." _

_The warrior tilted his head forward. "Good. Then you have an abundant amount of time to correct your errors. I expect your swordsmanship to be flawless by that time. I have no room in my battalion for second rate paladins." _

_A shameful flush crept into his cheeks as Deimos sent his eyes to the floor. His eyes, however, revealed anger and disdain. "Of course," he muttered through clenched teeth. _

With a strangled moan, Deimos shot straight up from his laying position on the cot. His feverish eyes took in his dark cell, reminding him of where he resided. Brushing damp locks away from his eyes, the paladin painfully brought his knees up to his chest. Resting his forehead on his knees, he panted heavily. The memory had happened nearly two years ago, though it still felt like it was the other day. With a smirk on his face, he remembered conquering his father triumphantly in the following sparring match. Though he was exhausted from training 30 straight hours, Deimos didn't miss the proudness in his father's eyes at the defeat. His smirk turned to a frown as a sweeping pain overtook his body. Contorting his face into a grimace, Deimos panted breathlessly.

It had been four days since he last saw the human warrior and five days since his capture. Mentally counting in his head, Deimos figured it must have been at least six days since he last siphoned mana. It was common knowledge that blood elves relied heavily upon mana to quench their addiction. Without the needed supply, a blood elf would go into an uncomfortable withdrawal, of which could possibly lead to a comatose state or insanity. Taking a large gulp of air, Deimos swung his legs over the side of the cot, resting his hands on his knees and leaning forward. There was no way to ease the discomfort or pain, no matter how many times he readjusted his position. Sleep used to be a small luxury to escape the never ending ache, but nightmares and unpleasant memories began to plague his dreams. Even that small comfort had been ripped from him. He was forced to endure the side effects consciously.

Groaning loudly as another heated pain wracked his body, Deimos stood to pace his cell. Walking sometimes provided a small relief. Days prior, he had increased his usual hour of meditation, hoping to slow the inevitable discomfort that would arise. However, it was futile. His body rebelled with malice at the sudden cut off mana. Stopping to brace himself against the wall, his body began to shiver from the glistening sweat covering his skin. Closing his eyes, the paladin absent-mindedly scratched an itch on his forearm. However, instead of calming the tickle, it ignited several more intense itches across his skin. Brows together in confusion, Deimos glanced down at his arms, where a strange sensation was originating from. Furiously increasing his speed and pressure, his arms continued to itch, though it felt like it was under his skin. The scratching offered little to no reprieve as the tremors moved up and down his arms. Digging his nails further into his skin, Deimos was sure he was going insane.

* * *

Glancing down at his quill and untouched parchment paper, Warren tuned out the Draenei ambassador standing in the center of the room. Discussions had been taking place the past several days with representatives from the respected Alliance leaders. Until the leaders themselves could arrange for a proper visit to discuss the details, correspondence was being conducted through various ambassadors and diplomats. _Diplomats_, Warren mused with a smirk, _a politically correct word for tauren shitters… _After seeing these "diplomats" for nearly ten hours a day, the older man was unsure how many more of these diplomatic discussions he could take. While he understood the magnitude of the conversations, however much he might, he failed to understand the political dance the representatives displayed, his king included. Had it been a discussion with warriors and soldiers, feelings and emotions would be set aside. Nice words and cushioning would be forgotten, the point getting across the fastest way possible. But, Warren knew with dismay that when it came to politics precautions had to be taken, no matter how redundant and boring they may be. Words had to be chosen delicately and carefully, every conversation holding a deeper meaning, smiles usually fake. It was disgusting.

"We'll have to discuss the possibility of an alignment shift of those in Shattrath…" shaking his head, Warren was sure they had a nearly identical conversation the other day with an ambassador from Darnassus. If only they could hold one large meeting with all the diplomats, the meetings would conclude all the faster. "If we could provide some sort of incentive now, perhaps we could secure their allegiance for when a civil war does take place."

'_When'_, Warren thought, sick to his stomach. _No longer are we pondering' if'… _Glancing at his sovereign to see if he picked up on the word usage, he failed to find any indication on his passive facial expression. Turning his attention to a silent figure at the end of the table, Warren felt his mouth turn into a frown.

Matheus sat silent and rigid, unease and irritation emitting from his posture, his face holding a scowl at the word choice of the Draenei. It had been decided days ago that the intel regarding the blood elves leader would be kept disclosed and highly confidential. Warran shook his head at the memory and disaster the meeting was. Matheus had been furious at the decision, claiming the Alliance dishonorable and felt the rightful action to take would be to "leak" the information to Silvermoon. The advisors had shifted uncomfortably in their chairs when Marcus and Matheus shot verbal assaults at each other, both insulting each other's honor. Taking in the rogues clouded face, Warren knew his young friend had a good heart but was still slightly naïve. While he was an admirable ally and frightening foe in war, Matheus didn't have the spirit and vigor to make emotionless decisions, regardless how hard they may be.

It was to be assumed the Horde would be in a state of flux after the Sin'dorei leader was assassinated, the blood elf's most likely declaring war on the trolls. Not being a particularly accepted race by the remaining races in the Horde, most would fall in line to take up arms against their once comrades. The only race unpredictable was the Forsaken. While still not on the friendliest of terms with the blood elves, the Undead were closer than the others to the Sin'dorei. The most speculated situation would be a civil war within the Horde, rendering their defenses and resources vulnerable. Though the downfall of the blood elves would be swift with majority of the Horde battling them, it would allow just enough time for the Alliance to take advantage of the situation.

Matheus had seen it differently. He viewed the advantage the product of a dishonorable action, one that he said the Alliance would regret. An entire race would be wiped out for their benefit. Marcus was quick to accuse the rogue of treason as he was displaying sympathy towards the Horde. Warren was usually a level headed man, but upon hearing the accusation, he ran to his friend's defense.

The sound of plated boots smacking the polished stone floor broke Warren's thoughts. Glancing up, his brows met in confusion as three armed guards entered the meeting room without so much an introduction. Their faces were a mixture of frantic and panic, though they tried very hard to hide it. Taking the rooms' inhabitants in, one guard stepped forward bravely. By this time, the Draenei and all other conversations ceased at the abrupt interruption. Warren straightened his back as he saw the guard meet his eye and walk towards him.

"Commander Steele?" The guard asked in a firm voice, allowing no room for questions.

Warren gave a quick nod, still confused at the confrontation.

"You're the individual responsible for the blood elf?" The guard pressed, the commanding officers' hardened look making him squirm uncomfortably.

The question, however, made Warren uncomfortable. It was true that his king had assigned him to overlook and supervise the ongoings with Deimos. Unfortunately, the older warrior was unable to make time to see the elf since their first meeting. "I am."

The guards' face relaxed considerably. "We demand your presence immediately at the Stockades. It seems the prisoner has…" the guards eyes searched the room as if searching for the correct word, "fallen ill."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, Warrens eyes searched the guard's unreadable expression for more details. However, he kept his face passive, allowing no hints to the older man. Several whispers filled the room along with uncomfortable shifting. Wrynn was the first to speak. "What kind of illness?"

The guard whipped his head to his king, his anxiety growing tenfold. "Um… I'm not at liberty to say, your highness. I was directed to tell Commander Steele to report to the Stockades immediately."

Nodding, the king took in the information thoughtfully and turned to meet Warren's gaze, which he held for a moment. The king gave a dramatic sigh, turning to the uncomfortable Draenei ambassador still standing. "I apologize but it seems we have a pressing matter to attend to. We can resume tomorrow at dawn."

The Draenei gave a small nod, spinning on his heels to exit the room. The guards hadn't moved from their position in front of Warren, their eyes scanning the departing advisors. Warren slowly pushed his chair out from under him, mind reeling at the new information. Feeling the presence of a figure in his proximity, Warren turned to the meet the soft eyes of his king.

"I will accompany you," Wrynn exclaimed in a firm voice. The anxiety was ever present on the guards face, and even Warren couldn't conceal his surprise at the comment.

"My king," Warren started, choosing his words carefully. "I appreciate your concern but I will see to the prisoner. If you'd wish, I can arrange for a meeting with the prisoner when he recovers from what ailments he suffers, and in a more… comfortable location."

Wrynn had a small grin that reached his eyes in mirth. "No, I will accompany you today to the Stockades."

Heaving a large sigh, the warrior knew arguing would be futile. The sovereign would not be swayed. The guard didn't seem sold on the idea, though. "Perhaps we should gather more guards then."

Wrynn was quick to cut him off. "This will be sufficient. Please gentlemen," he gestured to the guards, "after you."

The guards looked extremely wary, each exchanging a look before one led the party out of the deserted meeting room. The king hung back several paces with his commanding officer at his side. "Your highness, I beg you to reconsider. This is hardly a fitting environment for royalty."

Wrynn offered his long time friend a smile and small shake of his head. "Honestly, I think I'd rather spend a day in the Stocks than listen to more of those dull meetings."

The older man allowed himself to chuckle silently so as to not bring attention to the duo, shaking his head at the comment. In the back of his mind, however, he couldn't quite push down the worried emotions. _What illness could he have obtained?_

* * *

Walking down the darkened damp halls of the Stockades, the guards led the king and commanding officer deeper into the prison. With only the fire hanging on the walls offering the prison light, one guard in front of the small group held a torch. Initially, Wrynn had to fight with effort to stop his retching at the putrid smell. Breathing through his mouth, the king began to slowly ignore the stench. Dirty arms reached through the bars, desperately trying to grab the walking group of men. As they made their way deeper, Wrynn noticed the inmate population decreasing.

"Where are all the other prisoners?" Wrynn asked as he looked into yet another empty cell.

The guard in front turned his head around to glance at the king, replying with firmness in his voice. "We put the elf in isolation, marked as a high risk prisoner."

Nodding silently to himself, Wrynn watched the guards open a bolted iron door for the group to proceed through. Stepping through the doorway, the silence in the dim hallway was eerie. Continuing forward, Warren could faintly hear a strangled voice in the distance. Unable to make out any audible words, the group increased their pace. A painful deep scream made Wrynn and Warren exchange a worried look and Warren began regretting his decision to allow the king to accompany him. _I should have tried harder to make him stay at the Keep..._ approaching the mumblings, Warren heard his heart beat increase.

"….courage to… c-change the things I can…" soft murmuring made its way to the groups ears. Warren shook his head in confusion at the odd string of words coming from three cells away. "W-wisdom… to k-know the… difference." Stopping in front of the cell bars, Warrens' eyes widened as he took in the inhabitant.

Sitting on his cot crossed legged, Deimos was running his hands up and down his forearms in repeated motions. Face and hair bathed in sweat, the young Sin'dorei had his eyes half lidded, continuing to mutter to himself feverishly. Though Warren couldn't be sure with the dark lighting, he thought he saw red spots on the dirty bandages covering the paladin's midsection. A hand instinctively flew down to his sword as the young elf gave a pained scream and slumped his shoulders forward.

"What kind of illness is this?" the king asked a hushed voice while giving a disbelieving shake of his head.

"I don't know," Warren answered, his eyes searching the cell for some kind of clue to the prisoners mental and physical state. "Perhaps we should-"

The older warrior was cut off as the prisoner seemed to notice his visitors, his head snapping up in surprise. Warren took in his unfocused eyes and pained face as Deimos slowly stood, his bare feet hardly making a sound on the stone. "W-what do you want?" the elf demanded staggering towards the bars in anger and confusion.

Again, placing his hand on his sword at the confusing situation, Warren glanced to his right at the king. Wrynn had his usual passive expression, watching the unbalanced elf attempt to place one foot in front of the other. Turning his attention back to Deimos, Warren felt a gasp leave his mouth as he spotted red liquid generously running down the elf's arms.

Swiftly, the older man turned to a guard. "Get a priest here," the guard gave him a dumbfounded look, glancing at the other guard next to him, looking for an answer. Impatient with the antsy guard, Warren emitted an angry growl. "Immediately. That's an order!" Eyes widening at the bark, the guard turned briskly on his feet, nearly running the direction they came from. Warren, directing his attention to the elf again, took in the wounds on his arms. There were deep cuts running the lengths of his forearms, blood flowing freely. The paladin's hands were covered in the red liquid.

Deimos had somehow managed to make it to the bars, taking several stumbles along the way however. His hands grasping the bars, he willed his eyes to focus on the men in front of him. The guards he dismissed; he saw them regularly. The elf turned his gaze to Warren, recognition dawning on his face which slowly ebbed away to anger.

"I… I don't like you," the elf feverishly said to the human. Warren kept his eyes trained on Deimos, unsettled by the close proximity and physical appearance the elf had.

Turning his eyes to Wrynn, Deimos cocked his head to the side curiously, his eyes going up and down the shorter human. Noticing the imposing and threatening sword hanging limply on the kings' waist, the elf leaned clumsily into the bars. "That's an im-impressive weapon you've… got there. Why don't you open these bars and... we can see how you truly handle it?"

The two remaining guards started to pull their swords from their sheaths against the prisoner who insulted their king. "How dare you, you disgusting ..."

Wrynn lifted a firm hand to silence the guard's words and halt their assault. Taking in the elf's young face but conditioned body, the king assumed Deimos grew up with a military life, falling into the roll as a soldier early on.

Feeling uneasy at the current situation but curious as the elf's odd behavior, Warren spoke to the elf eyeing the king. "What ails you, Deimos?"

Hearing his name, Deimos whipped his head towards the noise. The pain in his head increased at the movement, he closed his eyes shut at the onslaught. Bringing a bloodied hand up to his head, the elf gave a chilling laugh. "Nothing… I-I can't handle, human. I'm a…. soldier of the Horde," he cracked his eyes open, looking at the humans while he swayed on his feet, blood from his arms slowly dripping to the floor. Warren was waiting for a gust of breeze to push him over. "I can… can take-"

Abruptly, the elf stopped midsentence, eyes slamming shut as a rolling pain swept his body. His knees, no longer able to carry his body's weight, gave out beneath him. Warren looked on with curiosity and concern as the young elf fell to his knees with an audible thump. "He's mad," the king whispered to Warren, "I've never seen an illness like this, other than madness."

About to reply to the sovereign, the older warrior's eyes widened as the elves eyes opened to meet his. Preparing to see the unnatural green eyes of the blood elves, he was instead greeted with deep blue eyes the color of sapphires. A beat later, the elf blinked to display the usual green. With a gasp as realization dawned on him, Warren replied in a hushed whisper. "He's not ill. He's having withdrawal."

Turning his head to look at his friend, the king regarded him with a confused look. "Withdrawal? From addiction?"

The warrior nodded. "He's had no mana."

Rubbing sweat away from his eyes futilely, Deimos shakily got to his feet. Delirious or not, he wasn't going to give the lowly humans the satisfaction of seeing him bowing before them. Stumbling forward, Deimos had his eyes trained on his destination: the cot.

Turning to one of the soldiers, Warren addressed him. "This is going to sound very strange. But I need you to get demon blood."

"No!" The surprised group of men turned their eyes to the speaker, who sat on the dirty cot. He was leaning forward, chest heaving as he tried to impossibly catch his breath.

Confused, Warren gave a slight shake of his head. "It will stop the withdrawal. You need to siphon mana and I know demon blood will work."

Head hung in his hands in pain, the elf shook his head furiously. "A-anything… but demon…blood…" The elf paused. "Fel….fel ore…"

Giving a nod, Warren turned to one of the remaining guards, who looked extremely uneasy. "Go to the blacksmith in the dwarf district. Bring me twenty ores." The guard eyed the groaning prisoner thoughtfully before turning on his heels, silently running down the hall. The older warrior ran a hand over his tired face. _This blood elf is quite the hassle_… Demanding a healer for his wounds and fel ore to be siphoned was not for his comfort. Blatantly honest, the older warrior cared little for the elf's well being, but he was under strict orders to keep Deimos alive for the time. However, Warren knew once the paladin was convicted of his crimes, it would no longer be the case. He was sure a death sentence would be given to the young blood elf. He also knew that Deimos couldn't stand trial in his current withdrawal state; court rules dictated that one had to be mentally stable and coherent. At the moment, Deimos was anything but.

Huffing sounds made Warren and Wrynn turn their heads as Archbishop Benedictus came running full speed at them. Following the priest was a guard, trying futilely to keep up, his armor clanking with each heavy footfall. The priests' cheeks were flushed red as he halted right in front of Wrynn, eyes roaming the sovereign as he tried to catch his breath. Benedictus' face contorted to confusion as he turned questioning eyes to Warren. "I was told the king and you demanded a healer. I assumed… the king…" the archbishop broke off, his eyes falling on the prisoner sitting on his cot; head down in concentration as he took in ragged breaths.

"The king and I are unharmed," Warren turned around, eyeing Deimos. "He requires some healing. He's not ill; it's his wounds that need to be treated."

Squinting his eyes to try to assess the paladin through the dark and distanced space, the priest shook his head. "I'll have to enter the cell to look at them. I can't judge the severity of them from here."

The two guards shifted uneasily, noting their obvious disapproval for the request. Warren, also hesitant, emitted a small sigh. Though he hoped the elf was weakened enough to not attack, the older man still felt cautious. Deimos, while suffering from the side effects of the withdrawal, was in a delirious state, resulting in his actions being unpredictable. Unpredictability, Warren pondered, was a dangerous attribute.

"We will have to shut the cell door," the guard said in a shaking voice. "It's a security breach if left open." The sentinel paused, mulling over his words. "I strongly urge the king to stay here with an armed guard. Commander Steele and I can accompany Archbishop Benedictus."

Warren silently agreed. If Deimos did attempt to assault them, he wanted the king as far away as possible. The archbishop remained silent, his eyes never leaving the elf. Wrynn nodded thoughtfully, agreeing with the sentinel's idea.

"Right," the guard started, a shaking hand pulling out an iron key from his inner pocket. The second guard followed suit, also retrieving an identical key from his deep pouch. Wrynn subconsciously took a step back, allowing room for the cell door to be opened. The sound of the two keys turning in their respected locks echoed off the moist stone, drawing Deimos' attention. His head up, the elf eyed the three humans who slowly entered his cell.

Warren and the guard had their hands gripping their weapons, ready to unsheathe them if the Sin'dorei attempted to assail them. The guard was the closest to Deimos, Warren slightly behind and the priest following last. As they slowly drew closer, Warren inched his blade out as Deimos' posture tensed, his eyes darting between the three and the weapons. Benedictus took in as much of the prisoner as he could without a proper inspection. The bandages on his chest needed to be removed, the abrasions decorating his arms would have to be sterilized and dressed. Clutching the bag of supplies he thankfully brought with him, the three humans stopped in front of the sitting elf.

"What…do you..w-want?" Deimos demanded, an angry scowl on his face. Shakily, he tried to stand on his feet in front of the humans. His actions were halted as a strong hand on his shoulder pushed him back down on the cot. The elf sent Warren a hard glare. "D-don't touch… me…. Human."

Warren returned the glare from the angry youth, one hand still gripping his weapon while the other left the paladin's sweaty shoulder. Benedictus silently crouched in front of the fuming prisoner, his eyes taking in the wounds. Slowly and cautiously as if not to provoke the elf, the priest moved an outreached hand to a bloodied forearm; only to have it angrily pull away.

"…said… don't touch me," Deimos exclaimed through clenched teeth.

The priest gave a patient sigh. _Yes, he was going to make this difficult_. "I need to clean it. I'm here to help you."

A dry laugh came from the elf. "D-don't…need your…help." Benedictus glanced at the sentry and commander, trying to relay an unspoken request. Taking their hands off their weapons, the two turned their attention to the elf, each moving to get on a side of him. Deimos, catching onto the silent attack, futilely stood up in an effort to defend himself. It was too late, however. Wretching the paladin's left shoulder, Warren slammed the youth back on the cot with strength and speed. The guard did the same with the right, kneeling on the bed to hold him in place. Deimos began to thrash wildly against the abuse causing the humans to apply more pressure to his limbs. Halting his struggling, the elf turned his head to the side in a moan as another pain rolled through his body.

The priest, already finished with sterilizing the left arm, leaned over Deimos as he began on the right. Benedictus was swift and careful in his movements, his eyes moving up to inspect his patients face. Unnatural green pained eyes met his, and for a split second, he thought he saw something other than anger. _Grateful…_ But as fast as the emotion had come, it was gone.

The cell was silent, the sound of labored breathing bouncing off the cell walls. Warren had his eyes inspecting the elf's face, looking for any indication of an attack, his arms never leaving the bare shoulder.

Several minutes passed, the elf remaining still and silent. As the priest finished wrapping a bandage around the left forearm, all three humans' heads whipped up as an unexpected voice yelled from the hall. "I've got the ore!" Interrupting the silence, the humans let their guard down for a quick moment to see a sentry stop breathlessly in front of the closed cell.

Deimos, however, was expecting the man. His elven hearing picked up the guard coming nearly half a minute ago. With a grin, Deimos put his plan in action. Noticing the slack hands holding him down, the elf focused his attention on his shoulder muscles, pulling them away from the humans' grasps. Surprised and dismayed, the humans didn't react in time as a strong hand flew forward, throwing the crouched priest against the far wall. Sitting up with amazing speed, the paladin curled his right arm towards his body before slamming his elbow into the face of the guard. The man gave a quick scream, his vision blacking out as he head came into contact with the wall. Only a second later, Deimos wrapped his hand around the guards sword, swiftly pulling it from its sheathe. Warren, hand flying down to his own weapon, was interrupted as he felt the hilt of a sword smash into his nose with a satisfying crack. Warm liquid began to freely flow as he brought his hand up painfully to his face.

Caught up in the planned assault, Deimos didn't hear the king yell for more reinforcements. Gripping the sword in his hand, the paladin pushed the older warrior away from him with ease. Standing up, the elf turned his attention to the cell door and king on the other side. Dizziness clouding his vision, Deimos pointed the stolen sword to the archbishop, who began picking himself up off the ground slowly with caution.

"O-open this… door…" Deimos demanded, adrenaline rushing through his blood. "Or-or else… he…"

The elf was never able to finish the threat. The sword in his hands fell to the ground with a loud clatter as a strong hand gripped the back of his neck and threw him against the hard stone. The breath in his lungs was forced out of him as his chest was slammed against the rough wall. The firm grip never loosened, pushing the elf threateningly harder into the wall. Struggling to turn himself around, Deimos found the iron grip wasn't giving. Hot breath wheezed past a pointed ear as Deimos felt his assailant lean in closer.

"Don't move, blood elf," Warren whispered with a growl, his hand squeezing the nape of his neck tighter. The older man leaned back, looking at the shaking elf beneath his hand. Shaking from anger or exhaustion, he couldn't tell, nor did he care. Hearing the familiar sound of plate armor, Warren listened as the reinforcements Wrynn called for threw the cell door open. His free hand holding his bleeding nose, the older man knew his appendage was broken and would need to be set; an event he didn't particularly look forward to. Glancing to his right, he saw a guard lean over the prone and unconscious form of the sentry Deimos knocked out.

"Put your hands above your head, prisoner!" A harsh voice yelled at the panting elf. The adrenaline wearing off, his exhausted and worn body began to feel the strain he was placing on it. The elf rebelliously left his arms limp at his sides, having no intentions of giving into their requests. To his surprise, Deimos felt his face, which was plastered against the wall, and chest be ripped back by the hand on his neck. With a quick and strong shove, the vice grip threw his body back against the wall, the breath again being taken from the young elf. An audible groan left the paladin's mouth at the pain that resulted.

"Put your hands," Warren growled, his free hand leaving his bloodied face to grab the prisoners' wrist, thrusting it above his head, against the wall, "above your head."

Forced to comply, the elf slowly and shamefully brought his other wrist to join the already elevated one as he panted, eyes closed. The sound of moving plate confirmed the presence of the soldiers as they moved around the small cell. Creating a semi circle around the older warrior and elf, Warren tightened his grip on both the nape of his neck and wrist as he spun the elf around and threw him to the center of the circle. Landing hard on his knees, Deimos felt the world tilt as pain coursed through his body, his face contorting in a grimace.

Warren watched him with anger, a hand holding his broken nose. Though, Warren pondered, he couldn't be sure who he directed his anger at more; Deimos or himself. The warrior had allowed the elf the opportunity to strike him and take advantage of the situation.

A guard backhanded the elf across the face, sending his unbalanced form falling to the side. "Hands on your head, scum!"

Warren watched as Deimos, shame and humiliation dancing on his face, slowly brought himself back to his knees. Eyes meeting, Deimos held his gaze with Warren as he slowly lifted shaking arms to rest on his head in submission. The blood beginning to slow from his nose, Warren approached the back of the elf. With haste and strength, the warrior brought down the hilt of his sword on the base of Deimos' neck, rendering him unconscious. Watching Deimos fall in a heap to the side, Warren let out a sigh he didn't realize he was holding. The paladin definitely had fight in him; the older man's broken nose was enough evidence.

Stepping over the prone figure, Warren made his way over to Benedictus, who was standing in the corner of the cell. His face was passive, as if the situation was nothing out of the ordinary. The priest had his eyes focused on the elf when the warrior reached him. "Did he harm you, Archbishop?"

Benedictus gave a sharp shake of his head. "No, but now that he's out, I should care for those wounds." Stepping forward, he addressed several of the guards. "Please put him on the cot so I can finish." It was a statement that allowed no room for complaint or questioning. Two sentinels exchanged a look before moving to do the deed.

Warren, still trying to process the day's events, shook his head at the passion Benedictus had in his trade. The warrior felt a surge of proudness to have such an honorable and devoted priest aiding them. Having faith in the numerous guards still inhabiting the dank cell, Warren allowed himself to step out to the hallway, where more guards waited with Wrynn.

"You should be happy," Wrynn began, a smirk on his face. "Weren't you complaining earlier about monotony?"

Warren offered his friend a dry chuckle, "This wasn't what I had in mind." Pausing in thought, he looked over at the priest dressing the wounds that donned the paladin's arm. "I'm going to stick around until he wakes up. He'll need the fel ore." The warrior gestured to a bag full of the green stones left forgotten on the floor next to the cell.

"I trust you will notify me if anything happens?" The king asked. Warren nodded in response. "Good. I'm going to work on getting him a trial date as soon as possible. I'm sure the council would be most pleased to try him quickly."

"I think everyone would be." The bleeding finally stopping from his broken nose, the warrior watched the archbishop begin to rip off the bandages that were wrapped around the chest of the elf. A faint black and blue color was the only indication that there had been broken ribs. After the trial, however, broke ribs would be the least of his worries.

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**Review please! **


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm so excited that this story has gotten a lot of traffic! I've finished up chapter five, and it really turned out great! I'm writing chapter six now, which is turning out to be probably my favorite chapter; it's also the largest thus far. I'm shooting to get chapter five up on Friday. I hope everyone likes this chapter and reviews! Thanks so much! **

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"_You're pathetic!" the young elf tilted his head down silently at the verbal assault coming from the older elf. Standing in the middle of an ornamentally decorated meeting room, the paladin found great interest in staring at his battle-worn boots. Surrounding the elf was a semi-circle table made of polished granite, where a panel of blood elves sat scrutinizing him under hard eyes. The panel was made up of generals and commanding officers, as well as __Lor'themar Theron__, leader of the blood elves. Gathered to debrief the young paladin, Deimos had come straight from the saddle, his bloodied sword and armor showing proof. _

_Silence enveloped the room at the outcry from the young paladin's commanding officer. Based on several heated stares boring into him, Deimos figured many shared the same opinion. Hands hanging limply to his sides, the paladin couldn't bring his eyes up to meet the hardened glares. His cheeks were flush with embarrassment, a striking contrast on his fair yet dirty face. Unsure of how to respond, or if he even should, Deimos kept his mouth clamped shut. _

_A cough erupted from the center of the panel. His eyes looking up to see who it was, Deimos met the hardened but fair gaze of Halduron Brightwing, the ranger-general of Silvermoon, who sat to the right of Lor'themar. Halduron was an imposing figure with an intimidating posture and broad shoulders. He had eyes that saw many battles, but softened on occasion when talking to the young paladin. Allowing his eyes to take in the rebellious elf in front of him, he felt a tugging on his lips. _Defiant till the end. Just like his father.

"_Deimos, you're actions during the raid were most disappointing," the ranger-general allowed his harsh words sink in, Deimos breaking eye contact and resuming his inspection of his boots. "Do you have any explanation for them?" _

_Eyes flickering up in contempt, Deimos held an angry glare with his father, seated to the right of Halduron, before staring evenly forward. His response came out as a harsh whisper. "I refuse to take a life in cold blood." _

_The answer wasn't quite what Halduron was expecting, his mouth slightly agape at the paladin. Eyebrows scrunched in anger, Tharsis got his reaction out first. "Cold blood? You disgraced the battalion with your actions today! Disgraced the Horde! You're hardly worthy to bear such an insignia." The older warrior gestured to the red and black symbol on the paladin's upper arm. _

"_That will be quite enough, Tharsis," Halduron responded, taking in Deimos' clouded face. _

"_Deimos Ares'mar," Lor'themar addressed the young soldier, "your lack of action and commitment to follow through with orders from your superiors is distressing. You were weak, when your company relied on you. Such actions are more than sufficient to be court marshaled." The leader took a pause, noting the stiffened posture the young elf took, eyes meeting him questioningly. _

_Giving a small sigh, Lor'themar's face lightened considerably. "I've watched you train since you were able to hold a sword. I have no doubt in my mind that this… lapse of judgment… will cease to happen again. Am I right in this assumption, Deimos?" _

_Posture relaxing, Deimos gave a small nod. He knew what his people's leader meant. If it was to happen again, he wouldn't show Deimos mercy. "Of course, sir." _

"_Good," Lor'themar replied, "I believe Brightwing can arrange for a fitting punishment." _

_If the news of being punished was a surprise to Deimos, he didn't show it on his face. Keeping his face passive, the paladin turned his attention to the ranger-general, waiting to hear his fate. _

_Halduron flipped through several pages of parchment, satisfied when he spotted the intel he was looking for. He looked up to meet Deimos' curious gaze. "As you most likely know, your battalion will be deploying for Northrend in a couple days time." Deimos nodded. It was a deployment he looked very much forward to; having a deep hatred for the Scourge. The young paladin saw no better place to serve his people than killing those that ruined their once perfect lives. "Your company will depart without you. You are to take on a different mission." _

_Deimos was unable to stop the surprised intake of breath at the news. Not go to Northrend… "But-," he started, looking to his father for some kind of support. Tharsis also seemed slightly unsettled by the news, shifting uncomfortably. _

_Halduron lifted a large hand to interrupt the young elf. "While your passion is admirable, this is your punishment. Upon completing the mission, you may meet up with your battalion on the front." Though clearly not happy, Deimos relaxed noticeably. "We've received intel reporting an increase of activity in the Burning Steppes. You are to scout it out. This is a reconnaissance mission, not combat. It should be completed relatively fast. Understood?" _

_The young paladin thought over the mission. It had been some time since he last ventured to the Burning Steppes, not having a particular reason to go there. The mission seemed very dull and tedious, one reserved for a novice rogue. Deimos figured if he could quickly complete the mission, debrief swiftly, he would be able to join his company in time to battle. "Yes sir." _

Eye's shooting open, Deimos tiredly blinked in an attempt to adjust his eyes. He lay on his back, his gaze resting on the cell's dark ceiling. His bare back itched tremendously from the wool blanket he lay on top of. Looking at this bandaged forearms, the past events and pain returned to his body with malice. The young elf's body was still protesting from the cutoff of mana. His skin felt like it was on fire, his head pounded menacingly. With great effort, Deimos somehow managed to roll on his side, wiling the rolling nausea to cease. He squinted at an object sitting conspicuously in the center of his cell. Propping himself up on one elbow, Deimos noticed it was a bag of some sorts, its bulging sides indicating it was filled.

His bare feet making contact with the cold stone, Deimos held his aching head at the movement. Forcing his weakened muscles to comply, he approached the bag, face full of curiosity. Crouching down with effort, he pulled the sides of the bag open to reveal the contents. A small gasp escaped his cracked lips.

Turning the wool sack upside down, fel ore dropped to the ground with loud thumps. Deimos released a relieved sigh as he outstretched a shaking hand over the pile of green ore. With a deep gulp, the young blood elf put his full concentration onto the task at hand. Through squinted eyes, he saw with happiness the ore begin to shine bright green, similar to his abnormal eye color. Still holding complete concentration, green mist began to emit from the ore, rising to meet Deimos' spread hand. Upon making contact with the skin, Deimos closed his eyes as a pleasurable sensation filled his body. The pain slowly began to ebb away, his thoughts clearing, and strength returning to his limbs with vigor. Sitting in complete bliss, the paladin felt his shaking subside to be exchanged with vitality. Eyes snapping open, Deimos suddenly closed his opened hand, the green mist abruptly disappearing. While significantly blacker than before, the ores still held a small amount of green color.

Standing in a confident posture, the paladin felt extensively better than he had since first coming to the retched prison. His senses restored to their full potential, the elf whipped his head to the entrance of his cell, taking in the standing figure he failed to notice upon waking. Raising a delicate eyebrow, the elf stalked over to the visitor observing him with interest.

"Feeling better?" Warren asked with mirth in his voice, looking the Sin'dorei up and down. Indeed, the confident elf was quite different from the stumbling youth he remembered earlier. His stance was stronger and more secure, his eyes sharp and focused.

Arrogantly, Deimos crossed his arms over his bare chest. "I see you got someone to set your nose."

With a scowl on his face, Warren regarded the new side of the elf. "I see you sing a different tune when you're not drooling all over yourself."

With a cocky smirk, Deimos gave a small chuckle, his eyes running up and down the human. "Drooling or not, I was still able to wipe the floor with your face, old man."

Throwing his head back into a jovial laugh that echoed off the walls, Warren tried to not look offended by the insult. "Perhaps you forgot my hilt making good friends with your head?"

The cocky grin didn't falter, nor did the arrogant eyes that stayed trained on the human. "I remember you having to call the whole Stormwind army to help. What's the matter, old school, can't keep up with today's youth?"

Laughing again at the comment, Warren returned the arrogant look. Though somehow, he doubted it was on par with the one he was receiving. _Yes, this is most definitely a different side to him. _

With a tilt of his head, Warren gestured to the pile of ore. "Not going to finish your medicine?"

Turning briefly, the elf lightly looked at the ore, not giving it much thought. He resumed his haughty stance with a shrug. "Saving it for later."

An elevated eyebrow regarded the elf suspiciously. "We'll give you more. So you can go ahead and finish it." Warren gave a mock look of concern. "Wouldn't want to waste precious fel sources."

The elf shifted uncomfortably from one foot the other. "Really, human. I'm fine."

Sensing the growing frustration in the elf's stance, Warren decided to not antagonize the subject further. In truth, he knew the reason why. If blood elves allowed their addiction to run wild, they would develop an unhealthy obsession, reducing themselves to the insane Wretched. Somehow, the human figured, he doubted he'd be able to get the arrogant elf to admit it.

"Bet you hate being here, huh?" Warren asked with a hint of jollity to his voice, a large smile on his face. He gestured to the bars before putting his hands on his hips, beginning to walk tauntingly in front of the cell.

Deimos didn't fall for the taunt, instead strengthening his egotistical stance. "Oh no," the elf replied, voice dripping with innocent sarcasm. "Quite the opposite. This has to be one of the finest constructed prisons I've had the liberty to stay in. You can tell your king I'm quite enjoying my stay. Though he really should choose a different color palette for the bedding. Brown doesn't contrast too nicely with the stone."

With a dry, humorless chuckle, Warren ceased his walking to approach the overconfident elf, who still wore the cocky grin. Putting on his own cocky grin, the human addressed the elf. "It must be killing you."

Stance or grin not dropping, Deimos laughed. "What is?"

Abruptly, the smile fell from Warren's face, though he kept a daring and arrogant look in his eyes. He motioned with a hand to the elf's body. "This whole bravado you keep up, knowing full well that the trolls are on their way to kill Lor'themar."

Deimos felt his blood run cold and his face drop. His arms fell angrily to his sides from their crossed position. Gritting his teeth in fury, the paladin glared at the man, who kept a smug look on his face. "Come in here and we can see how my bravado truly is."

The warrior regarded Deimos with a sly smile. "As entertaining as round two sounds, I'm afraid I'll have to take a raincheck." Taking in the angry elf, Warren smirked. "We've got an Arraignment to arrange for. What with you being able to stand trial now."

Deimos shook his head silently, replacing his frown with his cocky grin. "And this will be a fair trial?"

The human raised an eyebrow, smirking at the question. "As fair as it should be for a member of the Horde. But, while I enjoyed our conversation, I really must go tell the king of your recovery. He was quite worried about you."

It was Deimos' turn to raise his eyebrows. "I'm sure he was. Wouldn't want his precious captive to perish before being interrogated."

Turning to leave, Warren stopped to respond with a laugh. "Oh yes, there will be much time for that later. What with your father having his own battalion and working close with Brightwing, I think you've got quite a bit of information in that head of yours."

Leaning closer to the bars, Deimos spoke in a chilling whisper to the smirking human. "I would rather die than mutter a single piece of information to you, human."

The comment didn't elicit a change in facial expressions from the human, who deepened his sneer. "I guess we won't know until we try, right Deimos?"

Fixating an angry glare at the human in response, Deimos gripped the bars in malice, his knuckles going white. The warrior gave a small chuckle at the gesture, walking down the halls as he left the fuming elf behind.

* * *

Signing his name to a piece of parchment, Varian Wrynn pushed it away while rubbing his tired eyes. The sun had set hours ago, his pile of unread parchment seeming to double in magnitude. Majority of the content pertained to trade agreements through non-aligned Alliance forces, always seeming to try to make profit on the never ending war. They demanded a higher percentage for their work, thinking they could take advantage of the demand-and-supply of warfare. Varian gave a smirk; these traders had much to learn about the king of Stormwind. The sovereign was well-versed with the trader's attempts of increasing their pay; he had to deal with it with each trade contract that the faction renewed. Some traders threatened that would be able to turn a better profit to the Horde, thinking the king would fall for the bait. Varian knew better though. The leaders of the Horde were stricter than he was when it came to signing trade agreements, wanting to ensure trustworthy contractors. War was a peculiar thing, affecting more areas of life than just the battlefield.

With a sigh, Varian eyed a small pile of parchment he set to the side, hoping it would resolve itself. Gingerly lifting the pile, he read the heading:_ By laws governed under the rule of His majesty King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind, and in accord to the regulations set force by the Alliance, hereby summon Deimos Ares'mar, son of Tharsis Ares'mar and soldier of the Horde, to the presence of his Majesty and counsel for accusations of first degree murder…" _

Scanning the rest of the first page, Varian brought a hand up to his head thoughtfully. After meeting with Warren Steele, it was decide the Horde paladin was fit enough to stand trial. Steele explained the change of character after siphoning the mana that was provided. More arrogant and egotistical, Varian expected nothing less from a blood elf, especially one at his age. With a chuckle, the king tried to imagine the discussion that the blood elf and Steele must have had. Steele had an admirable amount of patience in his being, a reason the king chose the Commander to overlook the ongoing's of the elf. The warrior was strong, both mentally and physically, and much effort would have to be done to push him over the edge. Shaking his head, Varian hoped his friend wouldn't be provoked.

His eyes taking in the pages of parchment, Varian's council of advisors had assembled information on Deimos to convict him. While the trial would be relatively short, the king wanted to try to make it fair. Though Stormwind was ruled under his monarchy, he was not a tyrant, nor did he want to be viewed as one. Varian was a stringent sovereign, but he didn't rule with fear instilled in his people. He had their respect and adoration for his strength and love he had for his kingdom. However, Varian felt his people didn't particularly want a fair trial for the blood elf. Prejudices against the race ran strong in the older generations of humans, making the war against the Horde even stronger. The king, however, wasn't one that held such an old prejudice. If an action allowed, he would try to rethink his opinion of people, not allowing emotion to cloud his judgment.

Closing his eyes, Varian already had an idea for the outcome from Deimos' trial. The trial being held very soon, the king was certain it would only last a couple days, ending with a definite death sentence. The elf would be dead by the end of the following week. Taking in a shaky and deep sigh, he felt a pain in his chest at the notion. Deimos was young; too young by Varian's standards to face such a harsh penalty. However, the boy had racked up quite a record in his tender age. While the Horde regarded his achievements as honorable, it was damnable evidence for the Alliance. But Varian was used to making such hard decisions. He doubted he would even flinch when telling the paladin his dooming fate. Holding such a power of authority, while having positive attributes, had many negative features; this event would just be another one. Nausea subsiding, the king pushed the mound of parchment away from him. The elf would be served the papers the next day, no doubt by Warren.

The king's thoughts traveled from Deimos to the reason for him being in the Stockades. Indeed, the boy carried a great burden of information with him regarding his leader. The information was nearly invaluable to his already broken people. The death of their leader would ensure their downfall. Of course, Brightwing would be quick to take his place, but the damage would be done. Varian turned his eyes down to his desk in thought. Matheus had raised a good argument in opposition of withholding the information from Silvermoon. If the information was somehow leaked and the blood elves received word on an impending assassination on Lor'themar, they would most likely detach from the Horde anyways. Accusing the trolls of the possibility of an attack, the rogue disputed, would cause a war within the Horde. However, it would be taking a chance; Marcus disagreed with Matheus, arguing that the fall of Lor'themar would ensure the extinction of the race swifter. Without the blood elves, it would be less opposition against the Horde, in addition to the opposite faction in a state of flux from fighting a civil war. The king rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands tiredly. The bickering between the two had caused an uncomfortable meeting that day. Sighing, the king was unsure how he felt in regards to the spat. The personable side of Varian wanted very much to warn the citizens of Silvermoon. Wiping out an entire race from Azeroth seemed… sickening. However, the monarch and warrior in him agreed with their current track; withhold the information for the benefit of the Alliance. Varian had learned long ago to leave emotions at the door when he stepped into diplomatic meetings and trials. This would just be another occurrence.

* * *

Time dragged on painfully slow in the sordid prison for Deimos. Sitting on the floor with his back against the cool stone, he gave a great sigh at his lack of activity. Boredom was not a sensation he was familiar with, usually keeping himself busy with missions or training. The Stocks offered little variation for the elf to keep himself amused. Counting the stones on the wall had grown monotonous, he knew how many feet the small cell was, and attempting to rearrange the small room proved to be difficult with only a cot. His arms grew tired after challenging himself to do pushups for an hour, his stomach muscles twitching in exhaustion from repeated crunches. The limited amount of physical exercise grew boring, rendering Deimos back in his predicament. The prison having no windows, the elf was unsure what the time of day was, making him feel disoriented. Unsure of when it was night, the paladin had been taking short naps throughout his day.

A loud clanking sound caused the elf to turn his head towards the hall, waiting for the source of the noise to present itself. Jumping to his feet, the elf approached the bars, trying to lean to the side to catch a glimpse of the incoming sound. What he saw made a smirk jump across his features.

Warren walked in front of a group of sentinels, who followed closely behind, weapons drawn. While Warren held a single piece of parchment, two guards carried heavily fortified iron chains. Locking his gaze with the warrior, the paladin crossed his arms while watching with amusement as a scowl spread across Warren's face. The group stopped in front of the cell, the guards with the chains shifting nervously as they darted their eyes from Deimos to Warren. Warren tilted his head to the side as he regarded the elf before glancing down at the parchment in thought. Slowly and silently, he slid the paper in between the bars for the elf to grab. With a sigh, the elf snatched the parchment out of the man's hands, turning his back on the group as he scanned the page.

"What the hell is this?" Deimos asked, back still turned.

Warren gave a patient sigh. "It's your summons. Decree regulates that you must be given at least 24 hour notice to your trial, which is set to begin tomorrow morning."

Turning around to meet the passive stare from the human, the paladin gave a small laugh, eyes roaming the jerky guards. "24 hours, huh?"

The warrior gave a dark chuckle at the unspoken jab. "Yeah, well. I had a busy day." Warren paused, expecting Deimos to have a smart retort. Silence followed, so the warrior continued, motioning to the guards. "Good news for you though. You're being transferred to a holding cell in the Keep during the trial."

Crumbling the parchment in a fist, Deimos tossed it over his shoulder, much to Warren's disapproving look. He crossed his arms over his grim covered chest, lifting a delicate eyebrow in amusement. "And I'm assuming your boy scouts over there," he tilted his head towards the guards, "are going to be the ones transferring me?"

Warren felt a grin tugging on his lips as he eyed the elf's proud stance. "Are you always so arrogant and irritating?"

Deimos gave a small shrug, holding a cocky smile at the older man. "I like to think so."

Shaking his head, his eyes glowing in mirth, Warren turned to address the patiently standing guards. "Shackle his wrists and ankles. I don't want to take any chances with this one." Satisfied with a nod from the sentries, the warrior turned his attention back to Deimos. "So you are going to be compliant and do this the simple way, or," Warren patted the hilt of his sword affectionately, "do you feel like getting to the Keep sore?"

Deimos deepened his arrogant stance, tilting his head forward in mock concentration. His eyebrows met, he gave a small moan in thought. "Hmm…" Deimos grinned cockily, lifting his head to eye the group of humans. Taking several steps back and assuming a fighting stance, the elf's eyes were full of delight and determination. "Six of you… I like my odds."

Tossing his head back, Warren emitted a laugh at the comment. The elf, while very naïve and young, at least offered Warren comic relief. However much infuriating Deimos was, the warrior always seemed to find himself laughing at his comments. He was brash and arrogant, qualities Warren felt were undesirable for a soldier. But he was quick witted and challenged Warren with a look in his eye that always made Warren snicker. Indeed, the young elf was entertaining to say the least.

"It's your choice," the warrior replied lightly, still chuckling at the grin on the paladin's face. "Alright men, you heard the elf. He wants to do this the hard way."

As two of the guards prepared to open the cell door, a voice stopped them. "Aw, what's the matter, old school? Need to send your cronies in to help you get me under control? I guess once that old age kicks in, the limbs don't move like they used to, huh?"

Shaking his head at the youth with a half smile, Warren held a steady gaze with the paladin, who bounced on the balls of his feet tauntingly. The elf was overconfident, that much was apparent. With a sigh, Warren figured teaching the kid a lesson would hopefully help knock the attitude out of him. Dropping his sword to the side, the warrior watched as a satisfied grin covered the elf's face. "Alright, hotshot. But when you're complaining about being sore on the way to the Keep, don't say I didn't warn you."

The guards shifted anxiously as Warren turned to them. "Sir, at least let us-" Warren lifted a hand to interrupt him with a smile.

"Don't worry. If, for some unholy reason, the elf does begin to get the upper hand, you may intervene. Until that time, stay out here." The sentries continued looking uneasy, glancing between the smiling elf to Warren's relaxed face. Moving forward slowly, two sentinels opened the cell door with a loud turning of the keys. His heart beginning to pound slightly faster with excitement, Warren felt the skirmish would be on a more even level; with Deimos no longer suffering withdrawal effects. Flexing his hands open and shut, the older man strutted in the cell, eyeing the posture of his opponent.

Deimos was still shifting his weight from one foot to the other, expecting an attack. Shaking his shoulders back, the young elf loosened up his muscles for the battle. _I almost took him down with half my strength, _Deimos mused with a chuckle, _this should be a cake walk._ Warren stopped several feet away from the cocky elf, his eyes roaming his rivals' body. All the warrior needed to do was incapacitate the paladin, a feat he felt was very feasible.

Sensing the elf's body tense for a split second, Warren expected the first assault from his opponent. A strong kick attempted to hit him behind the knees, rendering him unbalanced. The older man knew better though and easily blocked the blow with a strong forearm, managing to grip Deimos' ankle. With a fierce hand, Warren twisted the ankle strongly, forcing the remaining body to fall to the stone with a loud smack. Adrenaline coursing through his body, Warren couldn't remember the last time he trained in hand-to-hand combat; it was an exhilarating feeling. Rolling to the side and standing on two feet in one fluid motion, Deimos glowered at the warrior, who continued to smirk back, not taking his eyes off Deimos.

With a snarl, Deimos threw himself at his foe. Blocking a clumsy punch to his face, Warren missed the strong fist that made contact with his vulnerable skin on his lower side. Doubling over from the pain, Warren felt a hand on the back of his head thrust his forehead downwards, forcing it to slam into the elf's knee. Stumbling back several paces from the elf's grasp, the man blinked numerous times to clear the dizziness that erupted in his vision. Deimos chuckled as he slowly approached the disoriented man, hoping to take advantage of his vertigo. _All too easy…_

Throwing a heavy punch at the still wobbly man, Deimos was sure it would be the end to the scuffle. To his dismay, however, Warren sidestepped the well aimed fist. With lightning speed Deimos didn't think possible from a human, fingers wrapped around the elf's wrist before twisting it behind his back. With a pained groan, the elf felt himself being propelled forward from the iron clad grip twisting his arm. With a loud smack, his face and chest were pushed against the rough stone wall.

Panting, the elf tried to turn his head to address his foe. "You move pretty fast, old school."

Twisting the arm until Warren felt the bone beginning to sever under the strain, Deimos arched his back in pain at the movement, emitting a gasp from his mouth. "You were cocky, arrogant, and overconfident," Warren replied calmly to the elf as if he was lecturing a pupil. "You threw all your weight into that blow and dropped your guard. Had you not done that, you would have been a decent opponent. Don't ever underestimate your enemy, no matter their appearance." Pulling the arm harder, Warren thought he could hear the bone buckling under the pressure in objection. Hearing the paladin give a small moan, Warren turned his attention to the nervous guards on the other side of the bars. The older man gave a nod, letting them know the fight was over.

With precise speed, three guards filed into the small space, the clanking of the shackles resonating off the walls. Placing a firm hand on the boy's fair shoulder, Warren slowly turned Deimos around, hand still gripping the twisted arm. Immediately, green eyes filled with contempt turned to glare into Warren's face.

The human offered a small chuckle at the sour face on the elf. "Don't be such a poor loser, hotshot. We had a fair brawl, and I won." Deimos averted his eyes from the human. "Now, will you cooperate while we place bindings on you?"

The young elf gave Warren a look, his anger still resonating off his stature. "What do you think?"

As Warren gripped the arm harder, Deimos slammed his eyes shut in pain from the breaking appendage. The elf felt hot breath on his pointed ear. "I think if you don't want your arm shattered, you'll be a good sport."

Loosening his grasp on the breaking arm, Warren watched as the paladin's posture relaxed significantly. Hoping that it was an interpretation for submission, the older man grabbed the elf's other wrist, hanging limply to his side. Pulling the hand to join the twisted arm, Warren watched Deimos' face for any indication of backlash. The boy's face kept a passive yet angry scowl to it, refusing to meet Warren's gaze. Nodding to a guard holding a pair of bindings, Warren began to cuff the elf's forearms.

Wincing at the discomfort and pressure the cold iron offered to his arms, Deimos watched as a guard nervously began to crouch down to shackle his ankles. Not thinking twice, his left leg shot out, his foot connecting with the sentinels face. The man fell back several feet with a pained cry, holding his split lip. Almost instantly, Deimos was backhanded painfully, Warren's angry face coming into his line of vision.

"What did I say, Deimos?" Warren bellowed at the elf.

Donning his trademark cocky smile, Deimos gave the bindings holding his arms behind his back a couple testing jerks. "Sorry, just couldn't control myself." Eyeing the guard holding his bleeding lip, the smile deepened.

Glaring at the young elf, Warren knelt down to finish the job the guard began. Clamping the shackles around the elf's dirty ankles, he allowed the chain to have some slack to it. _Don't want him falling on his face the entire time_. Standing up to inspect his handy work, Warren felt eyes boring into him.

"Satisfied?" Deimos asked, looking at the older man still looking examining the bindings.

Warren lifted his gaze up to meet Deimos' eye. The guards had given them a wide berth while Warren finished binding him. Giving a firm nod to the guards outside Deimos' cell, the barred door swung open with a creak. Moving to stand next to Deimos, Warren gripped his wrist firmly. Without warning, the warrior pulled him forward and out of the cell, several guards walking slightly ahead while the remaining fell into step behind them.

At first, it took the elf several moments to get used to the limited use of his lower limbs from the bindings. However, he began taking shorter but faster steps, which seemed to be tolerable. If Warren found it humorous when Deimos nearly fell forward, the human didn't show it. Instead, the walking stopped and a strong hand flew forward to catch the bound elf. Upon being upright and balanced, the paladin sent Warren a sheepish look. Trying to hold back the grin on his lips, Warren figured that was the closest "thank you" he'd get.

Weaving through different dark hallways, Deimos kept his eyes forward and gaze unreadable. He ignored the growing stench that became apparent as the inmate population increased in the cells. He didn't react to the whistles and catcalls emanating from the darkened cells, nor did he move his eyes to see their faces. Guards retaliated to the cells inhabitants' yelling's by banging on the bars with their arms, throwing several threats at them. Warren kept a similar unreadable expression and a firm grasp on the elf's wrist as they traveled through the prison.

An imposing door with two handfuls of armed guards stood in the groups' way. Warren gave a slight nod of his head to the guards, who promptly began opening the heavily fortified door. Leaning ever so slightly towards the boy, Warren whispered in a barely audible voice. "Close your eyes."

Turning his head to regard the man with a confused expression, Deimos knew the meaning behind the words after it was too late. The armored door was pulled back to reveal bright sunlight flowing down. Turning his head in vain and clasping his eyes shut, Deimos was temporarily blinded by the sun. From sitting in the dark prison for so many days, the elf had grown accustomed to the dim lighting. Eyeing the elf, Warren waited patiently to begin walking. Slowly, unnatural green peaked out behind a half lidded eye, testing the new found light. Adamantly, the second followed suit.

Deimos gave a slight nod at the warrior, who proceeded through the door and up a set of stone stairs. His eyes still not happy with the abrupt change in lighting, Deimos tried to take in the current room as much as his eyes allowed.

Window's decorated the walls, spilling the bright sunlight into the room along with a cool breeze. Taking a heavy breath, Deimos exhaled the stench of the prison, enjoying the clean air. The brightness of the sun indicated to Deimos that it was afternoon. Racks of weapons hung on the walls, their sharp points shining in the sunbeams. More guards eyed him warily, unsure of how to react to his presence. There was a doorway leading to the rest of the city, which was wide open invitingly. Squinting, his advantaged elven sight made out the cobblestone walkways as well as various wooden structures. Though he could hear the bustling city, he didn't see any citizens. Glancing down at himself, Deimos felt a gasp leave his closed lips.

He was a mess. Brown and black dirt covered his entire upper torso, his bare feet a dirty black. Unable to inspect his hair or face, he was sure it was just as grim covered. The once brown pants were stained with spots of blood and more filth. Suddenly, Deimos had a strong desire to bathe and scrub himself furiously.

"Appearance not exactly to your liking?" Warren asked the obviously distraught elf, watching him look over himself. Pulling him forward to the middle of the room, Deimos was unable to send a retort when an older man approached them with a sneer on his face. He eyed Deimos with hatred, putting Deimos at unease. Unexpectedly, Deimos felt a hard blow to the side of his face causing him to lose his balance and fall to the floor. Unable to stop the floor rushing up to meet his face, he tried futilely to roll on his shoulder.

Warren, losing his hold on the paladin's wrist, watched with a shock expression as Marcus Jonathan's strong fist connected with Deimos' face. The elf went down quick; Warren in too much shock to react fast enough. Glaring at the General who continued boring his hateful eyes into the elf struggling on the ground, Warren found his voice.

"He's not to be touched until he stands trial," Warren said, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. "Policy clearly states-"

"I know what the policy says," Marcus retorted, crouching down to the elf still squirming on the floor. Shooting his hand out to grip the elf's fair chin, the general tilted the paladins head up to look at him. "I'm going to watch them kill you, boy. Then I'm going to watch the trolls murder your leader."

Wretching his head out of the man's grasp, the elf gave an arrogant chuckle, much to Marcus' dismay. "So much hate. I must have run into you on the battlefield to leave such an impression."

Standing back up, Marcus watched as two soldiers aggressively lifted the elf to his feet. The General shook his head in anger, directing his attention to Warren who was again gripping Deimos' wrist. "Get this filth out of my sight."

Not waiting to hear a reply, Marcus stomped through the bright doorway to the waiting city, not looking back. Warren shook his head at the disappearing form of the general. Marcus had much to be angry about; his wife and children were ruthlessly taken from him. Blaming himself for their deaths, Marcus was able to shift the blame from himself to Deimos; the one who helped arrange for the invasion on the city. Though Warren doubted the paladin was the actual killer, he served as a scapegoat for the still-grieving man.

Looking at Deimos, Warren took in the growing bruise on his cheek bone. His cheeks were flushed with anger, his shoulders seeming to shake with each breath, glaring at the doorway where Marcus exited. He turned his green gaze to Warren. "Who the hell was that?"

Warren resumed their walk with a tug on his wrist, ignoring the question from the elf. Pausing momentarily by the doorway, Warren gave a group of guards a nod with his head, indicating they were ready to depart. Allowing several to take the lead, Warren took a deep breath before tugging the reluctant prisoner through the doorway.

Immediately turning to the right, Deimos tried his best to keep his gaze fixed straight ahead. However much he tried though, he couldn't help glancing around at the town. The first and last time he had seen the city was four years prior, during the raid in the heart of the night. Being able to take in the city in the daylight, Deimos paid more attention to it. The architecture was strikingly different from Silvermoon, the distinct lack of magic evident. The colors were very simple, consisting of natural hues rather than the dramatic shades of the blood elves city. Watching as a woman pulled her child away from the group, her concerned eyes meeting his, Deimos could feel the fear he stilled in her. A group of young boys just barely reaching adolescence stopped in their tracks to give the approaching guards and prisoner a wide berth. Walking over a stone bride, Deimos chuckled at the curiosity in each of the boys' eyes. Most likely their first time seeing a blood elf, the boys watched him with interest.

Turning abruptly to the left towards a pier, the paladin spotted their form of transportation. Resting in the calm canal were several wooden boats, oars sitting on the plank seats. He turned questioning eyes to Warren who met his gaze. "We're taking the canals to the Keep. It'll be safer that way."

Deimos tossed his head back in a laugh. "Safer? Do you think I'm capable of causing harm in with these things on?" He gestured to the bindings with a shake of his hands.

Warren eyed the smug grin on the paladin's face before stepping inside of boat. He waited for the boat to stabilize his added weight before leaning forward to steady Deimos as the elf followed inside the boat. Warren sighed before replying. "It's not the citizen's safety I'm worried for."

Two guards accompanied the sitting warrior and paladin on the small boat, taking their positions at the oars. Warren had placed the elf next to him on the plank bench, his hand still grasping Deimos' wrist. The other boat soon became inhabited with the remaining guards, who began to leave the pier. Leaning over to look in the water, Deimos gasped at the reflection that stared back at him.

The elf's usual blond hair was matted to his head, the light color hardly visible through the filth. Brushing his fingers over the black and blue mark beginning to show on his fair cheek, he felt his blood boil at the human. His eyes were the only feature that didn't seem to change. They still held fierce determination and deviance swirled with anger. The rest of his face, however, was riddled with dirt and grime. With a grimace, Deimos could only imagine how he smelt.

Taking in the white stone that made up the walkways surrounding the canals, Deimos found the citizens paying no heed to the boats. They continued on with their repetitive lives, some more meaningful than others. His pointed ears heard mothers scorning children for being late home, individuals flirting shamelessly in the tavern, and arguments in the auction house. Somehow, the paladin mused, these occurrences were probably heard on a daily basis. Shaking his head at the prospect of living a non military life, Deimos felt a shudder run up his spine. He enjoyed his fluctuating life – one day sipping wine at the bazaar and the following slicing open an opponent's throat. The unpredictable ways of a military upbringing were instilled in him.

Approaching the Keep, Deimos eyed the structure jadedly. Constructed of strong white stone, it stood at an impressive height with numerous turrets. The blue and gold Alliance flag, hanging at the entrance to the palace, contrasted against the stone. The first time Deimos had laid eyes on the fortress he had been slightly impressed; he thought such a stronghold would be hard to infiltrate. However, the elf thought with a smirk at the memory, he had been able to do it with the battalion.

Glancing over at the young elf's roaming eyes and grin, Warren turned a hard gaze at Deimos. "You've been here before."

With a slight nod of his head, Deimos returned the humans hard gaze, his cocky grin growing. "Looked different though. More fire coming out of the towers."

Pursing his lips in anger, it took a gross amount of Warren's will power not to throw the impudent elf in the canal for the alligators to feed on. Thinking back on the horrible night Stormwind was assaulted, Warren recalled the desperate screams for help while he honorably guarded the king and his scared son in the Keep.

Taking in the angry look on the humans face, Deimos grinned. "Sore subject? I'm guessing you fought during the attack?"

Breaking eye contact with the paladin, Warren replied in a gruff voice. "I was stationed in the Keep," he spared a glance at the elf, "If you stormed it, it's a safe assumption that we fought each other. It's probably best not to compare notes."

Grin slightly falling; Deimos gave a grunt in reply as the boat came to a stop at a swallow wall on the side of the Keep. No pier to anchor to, a guard agilely heaved himself out of the boat to stand on the wall, supporting the boat. Standing up while keeping a firm hand on the unbalanced elf, Warren gave a small motion to Deimos to stand up. With the help of the guard, the bound paladin was pulled to the white cobblestoned walkway. His green eyes roaming his surroundings, Deimos took in the red rooftops to the right of the Keep and dusty smoke emitting from the left of it, obviously different neighborhoods. Giving a slight push on the small of the elf's back, Warren began walking towards the entrance of the castle.

The halls of the Keep were bustling with diplomats and soldiers while scattered with the occasional citizen. Workers polished the ornate statues in silence and concentration. Laughs from ambassadors were mixed with hushed arguments of traders. Walking forward, Deimos kept his face passive and emotionless as the inhabitants fell silent, noticing his presence. He felt stares boring into him like sword wounds, scrutinizing him with their gazes. Soldiers gripped their weapons, sending heated looks his way. Diplomats whispered furiously to their companions, wide eyes taking in the bound prisoner. The workers stopped their laboring on the white marble, watching the group proceed on top of tall scaffolds. The silence was deafening to Deimos' pointed ears, who walked on with his head raised proudly and face unreadable. He refused his eyes to roam the fearful and angry faces; he wouldn't give them that satisfaction. Instead, the elf pushed his shoulders back and kept his gaze staring forward evenly.

Warren had been expecting such a welcome. Particularly, he expected it from the diplomats and merchants. Not seeing many soldiers from the Horde, the warrior was sure it was quite a different experience for them. Some eyed him with deepened hatred and prejudice while others couldn't hide the fascination and curiosity in their eyes. Gripping his clutch on Deimos' wrist, Warren turned right down a hallway. At the end of the hall was a heavy iron door, two armed guards standing watch on either side of it. Stopping to nod to the guards, Warren felt Deimos relax noticeably, no longer under inspecting eyes.

The sounds of numerous locks releasing resonated off the stone. Turning to the shackled elf, Warren regarded his passive face. "These arrangements are only temporary. You'll be returned to your cell in the Stockades after the trial."

With great effort, the guards pulled the daunting door open, revealing a nearly identical hallway. Deimos kept his gaze forward, not focusing on anything in particular. "You mean while I wait for my death sentence?"

Gripping the boy's wrist slightly harder than he intended, Warren continued through the doorway. The corridor had the same bright white marble, multiple torches keeping the area well lit. On each side of the hall were three thick iron doors with a small square window. Positioned at the end of the passage were two guards, their faces stoic to the entering prisoner. A guard in front of the paladin and warrior moved forward to a door on the left side of the hall, an elaborate key in hand. Pulling Deimos forward, Warren approached the opened cell. The guard followed the two into the small cell.

Being pushed into the cell first, Deimos glanced around at the bare room. It was significantly smaller than his cell in the Stocks, only a thin mattress resting on the stone floor. Very narrow, the walls gave about a foot clearance around the makeshift bed situated at the end of the cell. A hard push in between his shoulder blades made him unconsciously take a step forward to keep his balance. Forgetting his legs were bound, the elf stumbled to his knees with a thud, his back to the warrior and guard. A strong hand gave a quick shove on his shoulder, causing Deimos to fall forward on his chest with a grunt.

The hand stayed unmoving on his shoulder, holding him down as he began to roll over. "Stay on your stomach."

While Warren kept a hand on Deimos, the guard moved with speed as he unlocked the iron shackles holding his ankles. They fell with a clatter to the stone as the guard moved to release the bindings on his forearms. Bringing his free hand to grasp one of the wrists, Warren didn't want to take a chance. He didn't put it past the elf to try to fight back. The locks freeing the appendages, the warrior tightened his grip on the paladin while the guard rose to leave.

"You'll be brought in front of King Wrynn and the council tomorrow morning for the Arraignment. Depending on how you plea, your trial or sentence will immediately follow." Warren paused, taking in the still and silent form of the elf. "Any questions?"

"Nope." Warren shook his head at the cocky reply, sarcasm very much apparent. Beginning to stand slowly, the older man kept his eyes on the elf while removing his hands. Stepping towards the door, Warren watched with interest as the elf didn't flinch from his position on the ground. Satisfied to be in the corridor, the guard slammed the iron door shut, quickly tightening the locks.

Jumping to his feet after hearing the door to his cell bolt, Deimos reached the thin mattress in two strides with a sigh. Flopping down on the poorly constructed bed, he considered his options; or lack thereof. Of course, he figured, he would plead not guilty. The plea would buy him time to formulate a plan of escape, rather than going straight to a sentence hearing. Running several scenarios through his head, Deimos leaned his head down in concentration. He figured the trial and sentencing would be completed in two days, placing him back in the Stockades at the end of the second day. Escaping from the prison would be close to impossible, the same applying to his current cell. Guards would be watching his every move at the trial, making a getaway very difficult. The most opportunist time would be the transferring back from the Keep to the Stocks. Brows drawn together in concentration, the elf figured if he could somehow unbind his arms, navigating through the waterways would be very possible; regardless of his legs having limited mobility. A small grin growing across his face, the paladin leaned his head back; he was getting out of the retched town and never looking back.

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**Please review! **


	5. Chapter 5

**This was a very long chapter to write. The beginning was kind of a bore but the second half really came together nicely. Like I said, this is really a pivotal point in the story. I'm currently wrapping up chapter six; which as turned out to be _extremely_ long. I'm shooting to get it live on Wednesday. Hopefully, I can start chapter seven tonight or tomorrow. **

**SadisticShadow-BoysCutrTorturd: Thank you for the kind review! I'm trying to stick to an "update schedule": mostly Wednesday's and Friday's. **

**Anonymous: I'm glad you're liking the story! As for who's stronger, Warren or Deimos, that's something I want the reader to decide themselves; both mentally and physically. While this story has it's fair share of actions scenes, it goes deeper into the characters personalities. Just a little hint, there's going to be quite a bit of Warren and Deimos in later chapters. **

**Pain and Betrayal: Thanks for the nice review! I know how annoying long updates are so I'm going to try to stick with my update schedule plan. **

**As always, thank you for reading my story, and please review! **

* * *

"To the charge of vicarious liability for manslaughter, how do you plea?"

"Not guilty."

"To the charge of voluntary manslaughter, how do you plea?"

"Not guilty."

"To the charge of criminal mischief, how do you plea?"

Deimos heaved a tired sigh, rolling his eyes at the repetitive questioning. The sunlight had just started to sprinkled into the room, illuminating the courtroom and its contents. Standing with two guards on either side of him, Deimos had a barren table in front of him. Against a long wall was an equally stretched chestnut table, its polished finish glistening when the light hit it. The conspicuous blue and gold flag of the Alliance was raised above the table proudly, tempting Deimos to sneer at it occasionally. The table was slightly elevated in the middle, where the king sat with an emotionless expression on his face, eyes fixated on the young elf. Sitting on the sides of the sovereign were his advisors, generals, and several commanding officers. Facing the council, Deimos' eyes roamed the various faces looking at him, his eyes making contact with Warren. Arms crossed over his chest while leaning back, the older man returned the gaze evenly.

"How is criminal mischief any different from the arson or burglary charges?"

The question from the paladin seemed to throw the officer off. Looking up from his long piece of parchment, the official glared at Deimos' cocky smile. Glancing back down at the paper, the man replied to the elf in a firm voice. "How do you plea?"

"Why break the pattern," Deimos offered the flustered official a wide smile. "Not guilty."

"To the charge of espionage, how-"

"Not guilty." Deimos tilted his head in amusement as the officer quickly glared at the elf. The men sitting at the table shifted uncomfortably at the elf's attitude and lack of esteem.

Looking back down at the list on the parchment, the man gave a sigh. "To the charge of criminal trespass-"

"Nope, not guilty for that one either." Crossing his arms over his bare chest, Deimos donned an arrogant smile. The smile deepened at the apparent redness seeping into the officers' cheeks out of anger. The man pursed his lips in frustration at the narcissistic elf.

"Deimos Ares'mar," the king's baritone voice bellowed down to the elf. Hard brown eyes met humorous green ones. Wrynn had had enough of the boy's attitude; disrespecting not only his officer but also him. "I strongly urge you to consider the severity of your case and readjust your manner. Or else I will have you removed from the courtroom and we will continue on without you."

Inclining his head ever so slightly, Deimos kept the smirk on his face as he turned his attention to the officer. "My apologies. Please continue."

The officer offered a thankful glance at his king before turning his head down at the list. "To the charge of acts of terrorism, how do you plea?"

Deimos blinked lazily. "Not guilty."

"Finally, to the charge of receiving stolen property, how do you plea?"

His eyebrows lifting up in mock surprise, the elf gave the officer a hurtful look. "No charge of indecent exposure?"

Slamming his fist angrily on the wooden table caused all attention brought to the king. Wrynn had his face screwed up in anger, glaring down at the elf who returned it with an amused look. "Ares'mar! This is your final warning. You should consider yourself lucky I haven't removed you yet."

His gaze moving from the king's crimson face to Warren's passive one, Deimos shrugged at the panel of men. "Again, my apologies." The paladin turned his attention to the still troubled officer. "Not guilty."

The man gave a sigh of relief at getting through the long list of charges. He figured the elf would put up an attitude but he grossly underestimated the boy. "We have so noted your pleas."

The council of men at the table seemed to relax considerably, some blowing air out between their lips. Deimos had pleaded not guilty for all the charges; rendering the next step a trial. Though the list was extensive, Wrynn had full confidence they could complete the trial with the remaining day. The sun had only begun to offer its rays to the city, leaving much of the day ahead of them. _That is_, Wrynn thought with a grimace, glaring down at the smirking boy,_ if the blood elf would cooperate._

"We'll take a quick recess," Wrynn announced to the murmuring courtroom. Indeed, the trial had drawn a good amount of attention from various aristocrats and diplomats, wanting to see the outcome of such a trial. Ambassadors from each Alliance faction sat at the bench, each serving as a representative for their leaders' voice. "After which, the trial will commence. Guards," he nodded to the dirty elf standing before him, "please take the prisoner back to his cell."

Two guards stood on either side of the paladin, a sentinel painfully binding the elf's wrists together in an iron clad shackle, tightening the manacles slightly harder than they needed to be. Wincing at the action, Deimos refused to allow himself to make a sound for their satisfaction. With a grip on his upper arm that was sure to leave a bruise, the guards led the bound paladin out of the room. When the thick walnut door banged shut after the departing trio, the council and king moved from their seated positions for the break. Some turned to talk to the councilor seated next to them, discussing the logistics of the trial and obvious insolence from the Horde soldier. To offer him such a trial, many felt, was already too lenient. They felt the paladin should have been given an immediate public death sentence, showing the Alliances' enemies their strength. There was procedure, King Wrynn had argued, and no one was to be denied it, regardless of race.

Pushing the hard wooden chair back, Warren stretched his stiff back muscles. For such a long event, he had hoped the seats would be kinder to their inhabitants. However, it seemed it wasn't the case. Glancing at the lack of chair provided for the defendant, the older man felt he should be somewhat satisfied with the unforgiving furniture. At least he was offered it. Turning his gaze at the audience sitting on the wooden benches provided, his eyes fell on a certain rogue sitting in the front row.

Moving towards the crowd from the table, Warren watched Matheus' head lift to see his commanding officer making his way over to his spot. A smile spread across his face as he imagined the suffering he knew Warren was going through. The older man was not law savvy, usually conjuring up decent excuses to remove himself from the king's council. This time, however, the king was quick to smash any hopes of escape the warrior had. Wrynn had personally told his long time friend that he was to serve, either willingly or not, on his council. Any "last minute" missions or quests would be put off for two days or so. Warren had been cornered into sitting on the assembly.

"I'm surprised I didn't see you snoring up there," Matheus said with a chuckle, rising to meet his friend. Warren gave a snicker at the comment as well, gesturing to the open doorway for them to walk through.

"I think the blood elf is keeping me amused too much," Warren replied, a grin still on his face. The Arraignment, however frustrating it was to the king, had offered the warrior little comic relief. It was strikingly different from the usual monotonous cases the panel usually heard; the usual defendants not having as much zest as Deimos.

"I think he's going to make Wrynn order his death even sooner," Matheus joked back as the two left the courtroom, proceeding to a long table of refreshments and pastries set up outside the courtroom. Pouring himself some milk, Matheus gulped down the contents while liberally helping himself to a plate full of sweets.

Shaking his head at the rogue's actions, Warren drank a small glass of water. "I'm hoping to just get this done with before midnight. I knew the elf had a list of charges but I didn't realize the extent of them."

Stuffing his mouth with a cinnamon roll, Matheus resorted to nodding at the warriors comment. Satisfied when half his mouth was free of food, the younger man replied, half chewed dough visible with each word. "Well, I sure ain't staying that late. It wasn't me that was asked to serve on the panel, thank the Light."

Chuckling at the lack of etiquette the rogue displayed, Warren tore off a small piece of banana bread before chewing on it in thought. "That decision was probably for the best. But it's not like we all don't know how this is going to end. If the elf would have just pled guilty to his charges, we could just sentence him and be done with it."

Matheus shook his head at the comment, moving onto to the raisin muffin waiting on his plate. "Yeah but you knew he wouldn't. You shouldn't have expected it."

The warrior sent a friendly glare towards his friend with a smirk. "I never said I expected it; just wished it. I think Wrynn wanted it too," Warren gave a sigh in thought, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes; "This whole situation needs to be brushed under the rug as soon as possible."

Pausing momentarily mid-chew, the rogue sent his eyes to the floor in thought and obvious disapproval. "You know how I feel about it."

Eyeing his companions clouded face, Warren gave a smirk. "And that, my friend, is why you stay away from politics. You let emotions cloud your judgment."

Swallowing hard at the food in his mouth, Matheus allowed his mouth to twist into a grin. "And that's why I didn't make it very far as a legislative Page."

Placing the empty glass on the table, Warren laughed at the comment. "I still have a hard time picturing you as a Page to an advisor."

"Well," the rogue replied, putting the barren plate on the table down, "apparently so did my mentor."

Noticing the time that had passed by, the warrior gestured to the doorway to the courtroom. While Warren didn't look forward to the extensive trial, he knew his presence was expected on the panel in order to continue. He didn't want the scorn of Varian Wrynn directed at him, no matter how good of friends they were.

Matheus gave a nod of his head at the gesture, knowing he would be residing on the uncomfortable bench for the next fifteen hours, with several recesses scattered in between. But agreeing with the warrior, the rogue found the Arraignment to be entertaining. His only experience with the blood elf was during their skirmish, and that was hardly considered a meeting. During the encounter, the paladin had been strong and confident, not very different from the arrogant and cocky attitude he displayed in court; just in a different context. Though he faced daunting consequences for his charges, the elf held no fear in his eyes. Instead, there was determination and challenge where he sent his gaze to, particularly to the king.

Taking his seat at the bench, Matheus watched as Warren made his way up to table with the others on the council. Warren was, in Matheus' mind, one of the most respectable men he had the honor of knowing. Rarely raising his voice to a shout, the warrior had a firm and commanding tone to his words. He gained respect from his soldiers through his adoration for his kingdom and well thought out strategies. He cared for each of his soldier's well-being, regardless of rank or class. It was no wonder Wrynn had demanded his presence on the council. His level-headed and logical thoughts would give the people of Stormwind assurance in the fairness of the trial. Looking through the window at the moving sun, Matheus knew he was in for a long day.

* * *

"Ares'mar, were you not present during the assault on Stormwind four years ago?"

"I was."

"And you ruthlessly murdered hundreds of innocent people?"

Eyeing the council of humans to watch for any reactions, Deimos didn't pick up the slightest change of facial expressions. "I was following orders."

The officer, who was an older man in his late fifties, paused in his pacing's to give the elf a questioning look. One hand held several pages of parchment while the other rested on his chin in thought. The sun had already begun to set; the trial had taken up the day. The officer had gone through each of the paladin's charges, questioning him only to get a smart rebuttal in return. The trial consisted of more bickering than questioning, the elf always wanting to get the last word in. However, the officer was well taught in the services of law. He plastered an arrogant smirk on his face that rivaled Deimos', seeming to put the elf on edge. Indeed, the official was good at his job.

"Orders?" the man gave a curious look at the elf, "from who?"

Rolling his eyes at the question, Deimos replied lazily. "My superiors."

The hungry look in the officers eye told Deimos the cross examination was turning into a more hostile questioning very fast. "Who were your superiors?"

Eyebrows raised in surprise at the bold question, Deimos sent a questioning look at Wrynn. "Relevancy of the question?"

The king had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, face scrunched in concentration at the trial being held. He turned his hard gaze to Deimos, meeting with unwavering intensity. Deimos only returned the challenging glare harder. Arms uncrossing, Wrynn spared a quick glance to Warren, seated several chairs to his right. The warrior returned the look with doubt on his face, an unspoken conversation emitting between the two. The sovereign turned his attention to the officer questioning the elf. "Please specify how the question pertains to this case."

Deimos moved his gaze from the king to the irritating officer, a smirk on his face at his small victory. The officer kept a very calm expression, addressing his king. "If it's the blood elf's defense, we'll need to cross reference his answer to ensure validity."

Mouth slightly agape at the obvious lie the officer fed to Wrynn, Deimos was taken by even more surprise when the king answered. "The question is relevant. Ares'mar, answer the question."

Gritting his teeth, Deimos sent heated looks at the king and officer before sending his eyes to the floor, refusing to meet their gazes. Several beats passed, the silence of the room increasing with each second. The paladin kept his mouth clamped shut, refusing to answer the men.

"Ares'mar!" The king's voice roared down to the elf, "You will answer the question or you will be removed from this court room."

Bringing his gaze up to meet Wrynn's, the sovereign almost physically flinched from the amount of anger and detestation held in the green eyes. The king and the paladin held each other's gazes for a moment, neither refusing to break away. Deimos spoke, his voice deathly calm, "What was the question again?"

The officer gave a dramatic impatient sigh at the question. "Who were your superiors that gave you the orders to assault, murder, and bring harm to the citizens of Stormwind four year ago?"

Breaking the silent battle with the king, Deimos turned his disdainful glare to the official. "Tharsis… Ares'mar."

A smirk danced across officer's face at his triumph of wills. "You're father?"

Grinning darkly at the official, the elf spared a glance at Warren, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. "I'm sure a cracker jack like you can put the similar surnames together and figure it out."

A guard standing to the side of the elf backhanded Deimos at the sarcastic retort, causing his vision to swim. Blinking rapidly to clear the water that filled his eyes at the action, Deimos heard a chilling laugh coming from the pacing officer. "And you've always followed orders from him obediently?"

Eyes roaming the official, Deimos tried futilely to find the hidden meaning behind the words. Quickly glancing at the council of humans, the paladin didn't see any facial changes that would allude to trickery from the officer; he didn't put it past him though. "He's my commanding officer. I would be court marshaled if I didn't."

Obviously satisfied with the answer, the officer began pacing in front of the elf, his hand still on his chin in mock thought. "How long has he been your commanding officer?"

Deimos darted his eyes at the king. "Relevancy?"

Wrynn raised his hand, as if willing the elf to calm down. Glancing between the human and elf, the king addressed his official. "Please either restate the question or ask a different one."

The official offered a small smile to the king. "My apologies, your highness." He paused to take in Deimos' frustrated stance and eyes. Slowly, the officer approached the stationary elf, a bounce in his step and a grin on his face. "You've always been a dutiful son and soldier under his command? Follow all orders, like the one to assault Stormwind?"

Squinting his eyes in confusion at the direction the question was headed, Deimos tilted his head at the man. "For my entire life."

Glancing down at the numerous pages of parchment in his hand, the officer smiled darkly at the elf, turning his back on the elf to look at the panel of humans. "You claim to follow the orders of your commanding officer devotedly, but can you explain to the council what happened a month ago in the Barrens?"

His face going ashen white, Deimos felt his blood freeze. His breathing stopped and he felt his heart nearly skip a beat at the words from the officer. His jaw visibly tightened in anger, his entire body taking a rigid posture to it. Unable to find his voice, the elf merely glared at the officer, powerless to hide the surprised look on his face.

Turning around to take in the change in expression from the elf, the officer laughed haughtily at Deimos, standing on the other side of the table situated in front of the elf. "You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?" The officer paused momentarily as he tossed a couple pages of parchment on the table for Deimos to look at, a painted portrait of a middle aged man on each one. "You know these images, don't you? I'm sure you were shown them before your mission given by your commanding officer."

Not bothering to look at the various pages strewn across the wooden table in front of him, Deimos kept his angry eyes focused on the man in front of him, willing his self control to not lean over the piece of furniture and kill the man. "Relevancy?"

The king was quick to respond, his interested gaze boring down on the boy. "Answer the question."

Fixing his jaw in a tight clamp, Deimos replied through clenched teeth after sparing a swift glance at the parchment. "Yes, I've seen these images. What's your point?"

Leaning his two hands on the table, the officer came closer to Deimos' face, carelessly grabbing one of the pages with a picture on it off the table. "Isn't it true that you were given an assignment to kill Archmage Tervosh by your commanding officer, and you failed to follow through with it?" He leaned in closer to elf's face. "Isn't it true that you were defiant against your direct orders?" The officer slammed his fist full of parchment down on the table with a resounding thud, neither the elf nor human breaking eye contact. "Isn't it true that you, for some reason, failed to carry through the orders given to you by your commanding officer?"

Warren shifted nervously in his seat as he watched the spectacle go on in front of him. The boy's body was tense and upright, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. The guards on both sides of him seemed to pick up on the aggressive body posture as they both shifted from on foot to the other. The warrior thought for sure the officer would be given a black eye by the young elf. To Warren's surprise though, the official pulled away from the angry youth, eyes still locked with unnatural green ones.

A small whispered voice echoed through the deadly silent room. "Yes, that's true."

Pacing with a smile on his face that reached his eyes in mirth, the officer gave a chuckle. "Then how can you claim to always follow orders dutifully, like the raid on Stormwind four years ago, when there's damning evidence that you clearly don't?"

Seeing red from anger, Deimos clenched his teeth shut in disdain at the man in front of him, who was obviously enjoying his job to much. _How dare he question my allegiance to my officer…_ Tearing his eyes away from the moving man, the paladin glanced at the assembly of humans seated at the long table, their eyes boring holes into his body. Each had an interested and curious gaze to their stare as their eyes roamed his fuming stance. The king was leaning forward on his elbows, brown eyes scanning the courtroom.

The officer seemed to revel in the angry silence the elf offered in response, his comments receiving the reaction he wanted. The official couldn't help the satisfied smile on his face as he turned to the reddened elf. "So Ares'mar, did you not murder and commit acts of arson on the city of Stormwind four years ago?"

As the windows offered twilight from the outside to seep into the room, not a person moved nor spoke. It seemed that everyone held their breath, waiting for the answer from the silent blood elf, who sent his eyes to the floor. Nearly a quarter of a minute passed without so much a sigh echoing off the walls, attention still focused on the mute elf.

Taking several deep breaths as if to will himself to calm down, Deimos looked at the official as he answered through gritted teeth, his eyes sending daggers at the older man. "It's called warfare. I'm innocent."

With a smirk at the response, the officer eyed the boy with amusement for several beats. Indeed, the elf was wound up in anger from the cross examination; a feat the official sought. Turning his attention to the council of men, he addressed the assembly. "I have no further questions for the defendant."

With a stiff and swift nod at the man, Wrynn loud voice boomed off the stone walls. "Are there any questions from the council?" Shaking heads and silence was his response, their eyes still focused on the elf who was shuddering with rage. The sovereign turned his tired eyes towards the official. "We are ready to hear any closing remarks."

Picking up his speed in his pacing, the officer began, what Deimos assumed, his planned speech. His voice was dripping of accusations, his firm tone bellowing throughout the room. "Deimos Ares'mar, son of Tharsis Ares'mar and paladin of the Horde, has conducted many volatile actions in his short years. He dishonorably slaughtered thousands of good men with his hands, killing innocent citizens along the way. His merciless and cruel fighting style has gained a dark reputation, slashing anything in his path. He helped arrange for the assault on Stormwind that tore families apart. He set fire to our kingdom's castle and stronghold, nearly murdering our sovereign and heir." Deimos rolled his eyes at the dramatic spin the human was unnecessarily putting on the speech. "His defense has various holes in it, and an overabundant amount of evidence pointing to his conviction. For this, I strongly urge you gentlemen to do the right and honorable action and find him guilty for the crimes he has committed."

Ending his speech, the older man turned to spare Deimos an entertained glare. Shaking his head slightly as the official silently move to stand on the side of the room, all attention was turned to the blood elf. Calming down vaguely, Deimos met the hard gaze of the king. Addressing the boy, Wrynn couldn't hide the exhaustion in his voice. "Ares'mar, the council will now hear your closing comments."

His eyes roaming the faces of the humans staring at him expectedly, Deimos gave a great sigh. He knew the trial was already decided, the ending predictable to everyone in the courtroom. To allow a soldier of the Horde to walk away with less than a death sentence would cause a quarrel among the citizens. The young elf was sure whatever he had to say would fall on deaf ears. "Everything that idiot said is wrong," Deimos stopped, watching disapproval darken the kings already dissatisfied features. Expecting eyes still bore down on Deimos, waiting for him to continue his speech. "Thank you."

Murmurs erupted from the crowded court room, comments whispering about the lack of respect shown from the elf traveling around the stoned walls. The king shook his head at the paladin's attitude, but not able to stop a relieved sigh escape his mouth. The trial, however exhausting it was, had come to a tired end. The men making up the council looked weary and drained, the long day taking its toll on them. Standing to address the teeming room full of citizens, Wrynn tried his best to hide his fatigue. "That will conclude the trial process. I will decide a verdict for the defendant, which will be announced in the morrow. If found guilty, we will immediately commence into the sentencing hearing. Guards, please remove the prisoner from the courtroom." Sitting back down with a tired sigh, the sovereign watched as the iron chains were placed heavily on the paladin's forearms. Deimos kept his gaze even and wavering, staring straight ahead of him.

After pulling the grim covered elf out the waiting doorway, the citizens of Stormwind began to get up from their wooden seats, no doubt feeling the consequences of sitting for so long. The once silent room erupted into conversations about the trial, some complaining of the length while others debated the elf's possible sentencing. Satisfied that the trial was over, Warren followed suit with the other councilors and stood up from his chair, arching his back to stretch out knotted muscles. Indeed, it was a long trial, the moon and stars adorning the sky already. With a relieved grin, the warrior knew the following day would be kinder. Informing the elf the verdict, no doubt guilty, the entire ordeal would be finished in the matter of hours. However, the older man thought with a grimace, his night was far from over. The councilors were required to meet with the king in his chambers, discussing the logistics of the trial and aiding Wrynn in reaching a verdict. Should it be guilty, the councilors would then be obligated to assist in determining an appropriate and fitting sentence.

Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, the warrior got little comfort in knowing the whole ordeal was almost finished.

* * *

Drifting on still waters a mile off the shores of Stormwind, a darkened wooden ship sat anchored. Not a single torch illuminated the ships decks, making the crescent moon the only source of light for its inhabitants. The lack of luminosity didn't hinder the bustling activity for those on the ship, their precise and swift movements trained without the aid of torch light. Well trained soldiers, the numerous trolls prowling the top deck of the ship sharpened their blades in anticipation for their mission. Rogues applied fatal poisons to their sharp daggers, eyes expertly inspecting their weapons. Hunters checked to make sure there was a ready supply of ammunition for their guns and that their aggressive beasts were ready for battle. A handful of trolls prepared small boats hanging from the side of the ship, ready to be dropped into the water with a full load.

One troll stood by the edge of the ship, long sword in his tightened grip as he eyed the waning lights of Stormwind City. Turning to address a small group of rogues sitting several paces from him, he eyed the soldiers with determination. "Zan'pil," the troll called out to another leaning against a wooden post. "Is Delta team ready?"

A troll with purple spiky hair lifted his head from inspecting his twin daggers, eyes making out the troll calling his name through the dark. "Yes, Larrd'za," he replied, his deathly calm voice replied. "My team is ready."

Nodding impatiently at the rogue, the warrior turned his hard and commanding gaze to the group of rogue trolls lifting themselves off the ground, placing sharpened and poisoned weapons at their sides. "Delta team, I trust you know your objective," receiving several nods as answers, Lardd'za continued, his voice taking a firm tone. "Reports say he was placed in the Stockades when captured. Check there first. Our orders were clear though; don't draw to much attention to yourselves."

A troll stepped forward to address the officer. "And if we run into resistance?"

The warrior couldn't help the smirk that danced across his features, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. "Slay anyone in your path. But if the objective is too heavily fortified, you are to report back here for further instructions. Am I understood?" Again, silent nods answered Lardd'za.

"Good," the warrior replied, turning to gesture to the waiting boats, "Delta team, prepare to deploy."

The handful of rogues approached the small boats, each with anticipation and excitement causing their hands to itch. Though the mission was relatively simple, infiltrating such an armed and guarded structure would be testing. The rogues, however, were specifically selected for the daring mission. They were among the best trained troll rogues the Horde had to offer. Stepping into the equally dark boat, the trolls caring for the pulley system began to drop it into the water when full. Hitting the sea with hardly a ripple in the water, the small boat began to navigate silently towards bright harbor lights. The rogues sat deathly still, trained muscles motionless as their eyes stayed focused on the lights in the distance.

Satisfied that the raid was underway, Lardd'za turned his rigid stare from the small boat slowly paddling through the water to the remaining soldiers on the ship. While the orders were to complete the mission with as little combat as possible, the officer was given permission to utilize force, if necessary. Hoping it wouldn't come to that, the warrior had full confidence in their abilities if it did. A ship full of decorated and battle-hungry soldiers, the officer knew the objective would be completed one way or another. With a sadistic smile spreading across his face, he only wished he could be the one to spill the boys' blood.

* * *

Getting past the guards had been relatively easy for Zan'pil, entering the Stockades with little trouble. The location of the moon told the group it was midnight, rendering the city silent with sleep. The only inhabitants that walked the streets were the occasional guards and city drunks, stumbling along to the next tavern in hopes of another drink. The guards traveled on unpredictable rotations, making the group of rogues having to stealth their way to the prison. Hiding in shadows had been relatively easy, the lack of light aiding in their progress.

Footsteps falling silent on the dark stone, the rogues kept their eyes trained ahead of them, occasionally looking around for possible patrols. Daggers were out and ready, the deadly poisons glistening when the torch light hit it. The only indication that the cells held prisoners was the smell; the halls silent with the sleeping inmates. Not bothering to glance into the cells, Zan'pil knew his objective was located further in the prison, not being kept with mainstream inmates.

Glancing ahead, Zan'pil hitched his breath in his throat as he saw two guards standing in front of a well fortified door. The troll knew what he sought was behind the door. Sparing a quick glance at another rogue in his group, the two silently approached the sentries while the rest of the team waited patiently for the deed to be done.

With agility and speed, the two simultaneously surprise attacked the guards, their hands wrapping around the human's mouths to muffle their screams. Another hand plunged the dagger into the guards' vulnerable sides, twisting with sick pleasure to ensure a quick death. Satisfied as the life left the sentinel's bodies, the daggers were pulled from the humans, entails and blood dripping on the once clean blades. Dropping the bodies to the floor with care to not make a sound, the team of rogues easily opened the fortified door.

Moving through a nearly identical hall, Zan'pil began to slow his pace as he recalled the map of the Stockades he memorized for the mission. Reports had disclosed the location of their objective, making their job all the easier. Stopping in front of the cell the troll knew housed their purpose, he clenched his daggers in anger.

Expecting to find the sleeping form of Deimos Ares'mar, he was instead greeted to a deserted and very vacant cell. Doubting his mental mapping of the prison, Zan'pil was preparing to inspect the surrounding cells for the blood elf. A small pile of rocks on the cell floor caught the rogue's eye, making him squint in an attempt to make out the form. A grin falling across his face, the smallest glimmer of green gave away its identity: fel ore. Abruptly turning on his heels, Zan'pil gave a recognizable gesture to his men to fall back. The blood elf had been moved.

* * *

"He's no longer in the location our Intelligence reported him at," Zan'pil explained to Lardd'za, hands spinning his daggers with skill. "He must have been moved or killed already."

Turning from the rogue in thought, Lardd'za crossed his arms in front of his chest. He knew it was unlikely the humans had killed the blood elf; it was too soon. The Alliance believed in protocol and procedure, making a trial a necessity to condemn one to certain death. Of course, Lardd'za didn't put it past the weak faction to interrogate the blood elf for information, adding more confusion to the possible location of the paladin. Shaking his head at the thought, Lardd'za felt confident that the king would require a trial first before questioning the Horde soldier. Turning his gaze to the patient rogue, who watched him with enduring eyes, the warrior gave him a questioning look. "Where do trials take place in Stormwind?"

A grin tugging at his face, Zan'pil caught onto his commander's line of thought. "The Keep, I believe."

Turning his stare at the harbor lights of the retched human city, the warrior gave a sigh. While a small part of the troll wanted the mission done with swiftly, he felt great excitement at the prospect of slaying members of the opposite faction, particularly the blood elf.

* * *

Shifting again in the uncomfortable chair, Warren laid his forehead in his hands with a tired sigh. The same argument had been taking place in the king's chambers for nearly four hours, the council members offering redundant disagreements. The king, his expressionless façade slowly falling from exhaustion, was soon at his wits end as well. Leaning back in his seat, the sovereign sent an exasperated and tired look at the warrior, who returned it with a small shrug and shake of his head. Battles he understood, but to Warren, politics were just crazy.

"I'm just saying," the draenei representative said with vigor in his voice, "a swift public execution would be the boldest statement we could send to the Horde."

The night elf diplomat shook his head in disgust at the idea. "And lower ourselves to the barbaric rituals of the Orcs? A quiet and honorable execution is much more fitting for the Alliance."

Shaking his head at the quarreling, Warren sipped wine out of the intricate goblet the king had provided. Deciding a verdict had been relatively simple for Wrynn; the evidence was straight forward and damning. Such a judgment had only taken an hour for the king to decide, making the sentence the next deciding factor. While the commanding officers and advisors seemed to be at peace, the representatives from the other Alliance factions failed to agree. Each had a different opinion of how the death should be carried out; but one element was agreed upon: he would be given a death sentence.

Rubbing his tired eyes, the warrior looked around the small, windowless room. Nestled in the middle of the Keep, the king's chambers were lavishly decorated, flags of the Alliance draped across the walls. Large walnut tables were positioned in a square, each of the sitting men able to address each other. _Possibly for the worst_, Warren mused with a grimace. The room had exploded with distressed diplomats; each feeling their idea was the best option for the Alliance. The king had been patient with them, allowing each man to voice his outlook. However, exhaustion and irritation had begun to set in the king, his passive face unable to hide his annoyance.

"Gentlemen," Wrynn called out, drawing all attention to him. "If we could just please-"

Unable to finish his sentence, the king turned a surprised head at the wooden door that flew open with vivacity that tested the hinges. A panicked and flustered soldier rushed into the room, followed by four more, weapons drawn and ready. Each man jumped to their feet, the commanding officers unconsciously pulling their weapons at the guards' actions. Reaching the king, the guard was able to get out his message in between gasps of breaths. "Stormwind is under attack, your majesty. The Keep…it's been stormed."

Slamming the thick wooden door shut with a sounding bang, two soldiers brought down a wide plank, securing the door in place. Eyes darting around the room madly, Warren immediately felt his breath increase in his throat, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. "How many?"

The guard gripped his weapon, shaking his head. "I didn't personally see them, sir. Reports say at least fifty."

Eyeing the nervous diplomats as they shifted their weight from one foot to the other, Wrynn scrunched his brows in confusion. "How did they get inside the city walls?"

Yelling outside the room made their heads whip to the direction of the door. Warren gripped his sword harder, moving to stand in front of the king. The sounds outside slowly turned to silence, the breathing from each of the men in the room seeming to stop. Several beats passed, not a muscle twitched or eye blinked. Satisfied that the source of the noise was gone, the guard turned to address the king. "They attacked the harbor first. From what I heard, it's just trolls so far."

Turning to give Warren a confused look, Wrynn found his friend returning an equally questioning stare. "And you said they stormed the Keep?"

"Yes, your highness. Came straight here," the sentinel gave a small pause, "They're most likely coming to help the blood elf escape."

Shaking his head at the comment, the king turned his eyes downcast in thought. "That can't be right. Especially if it's trolls."

The crashing sound made the room tense once again, soldiers inching closer to the door in anticipation. The diplomats seemed to shrink back towards the walls, their eyes filled with fear. The anger on his face falling suddenly to be replaced with sheer terror, Wrynn turned to address Warren. "My son. We'll need to get him to safety."

Warren regarded the fearful king's face with a confident one. "My king, his guards are with him. I'm sure they got him to shelter," glancing at the door and picking up on several more indistinct yells, the warrior turned his gaze back at the frightful father, "We cannot leave from here, your highness. We would be putting your life at risk."

Turning his panicked gaze towards the door, Wrynn prayed to the Light and his departed wife to watch over and protect his son, should anything befall him.

* * *

Lying on his back, Deimos stared up at the white stoned ceiling. He was unsure what time of night it was but when sleep failed to fall upon him, he ruthless gave up on it. Instead, the paladin began running possible escape scenarios through his head. He was sure the verdict for his trial would be guilty; as everyone else would most likely be anticipating it. Further, the young elf was also positive an execution would be given as a sentence, most likely to be conducted after a prompt interrogation. Grinning to himself, the paladin was sure he would be long escaped before that point happened. His fingers rubbed over the thin piece of fel ore he was able to break off with the rations they had provided him to siphon mana. Smiling to himself, Deimos had been smart enough to eye the key hole on the shackles the guards held during the trial. _Escape will be pretty easy_, he thought with smirk. When being transferred from the Keep to the Stockades, all he had to do was fall into the water, unlock his manacles, and swim to the harbor. Once there, it would be relatively easy to flee.

Rubbing his hand through his matted hair, Deimos grimaced as he watched dirt and filth flake from his once blond locks. The first thing he was doing when he got to Silvermoon, after talking with Lor'themar, was taking a long bath to scrub his body clean and wash away the filth of Stormwind. Shifting his weight under the incredibly thin mattress, he longed to lie in his soft sheets and eat a decent meal consisting of more than water and a couple morsels of bread.

His pointed ears perking up at a nearly silent noise outside his cell, Deimos slowly pulled himself up in a sitting position. Head cocked to the side in concentration, the elf expected to hear a key turning in the lock to open the iron door. Squinting his eyes as he heard a foreign noise, the paladin was unsure what the scratching was but he knew it was originating outside his door. Eyes roaming the black door, his keen eye sight picked up the smallest glimmer of movement in the key hole. Eyes widening in surprise, realization hit Deimos like a brick wall. _Someone's picking the lock_.

Throwing himself down on the bed in fake sleep, Deimos willed his heart beat to steady itself when he heard the door open carefully and slowly, as if the intruder didn't want to awaken the sleeping form. His back turned to the door, the young elf was unable to see the trespasser, his hand gripping his pointed piece of fel ore. The intruder was obviously not a guard, leaving Deimos' mind reeling at the possibilities. His elven senses picking up on the increased breathing from his intruder, the young elf squeezed his grip on his makeshift weapon as he heard the unmistakenable sound of a weapon being pulled from its sheathe. The sound was repeated only a split second later. _Daggers… it's a rogue_, Deimos thought, trying to hide the smile on his face. The trespasser slowly and silently reached the prone elf's back, beginning to crouch down with care.

Anticipation running through his veins, Deimos heard the change of air as the rogue whipped a dagger through the space, aimed expertly for the elf's throat. With precision and speed, Deimos shot his hand up to grip the attacker's hand, twisting with strength. Pleased when the dagger fell from the hand a second later, Deimos turned to face his attacker and lunged at him. Grinning when the sharp piece of ore was plunged in the neck of the rogue, Deimos took in the face of the rogue. _A troll!_

Trying to ignore the wound, the rogue brought up his other dagger in an attempt to slash the elf's throat open. Easily dodging the sloppy attack, Deimos rolled to his left, watching the blood flow freely from the neck wound. Watching the troll begin to choke on his own blood, Deimos took the opportunity to grasp the rogue's forgotten dagger lying on the ground next to him. Leaping to his feet in surprising speed, Deimos slashed the rogue's throat open, revealing a stream of thick blood. The nearly black fluid flowed onto the leather armor of the rogue as he fell to his knees. Hands feebly going up to his slashed neck, the troll fell forward with a loud thud, blood beginning to paint the white stone. Watching his hand twitch for several seconds, Deimos was happy when the stirring ceased. Wiping his brow from the sweat that had developed, the paladin picked up the other blade left on the floor and approached the open door to his cell cautiously.

Glancing back at the rogue laying lifeless on the floor, his green eyes fell on the Horde insignia. The trolls were sent to murder him. Sticking his head carefully out the doorway, Deimos knew he would have to be watchful for not only guards but also those hunting him. However, it was likely the guards of the city were preoccupied with the sudden assault on the city, making an escape even all more possible. Taking in the two dead guards slumped against the wall in the hallway, Deimos discarded the twin daggers for one of the guards swords still resting in its sheath. Hands gripping the sturdy hilt, Deimos took a couple test swings, getting himself acquainted with the blade. Decently constructed, it would serve its purpose for him.

Walking agilely on the balls of his bare feet, Deimos slowly walked through the opened heavy door. It was most likely the rogue picked that lock as well. Through the doorway and small hall, he entered an equally small room, several benches scattered around. Getting ready to turn right to enter a hallway only another turn away from the main passage, Deimos plastered himself up against the corner of the wall as he heard fighting. Holding his breath and gripping the sword tighter in anticipation, the young elf prayed that the combating wouldn't venture over his way. While he didn't doubt his abilities, he wanted to escape the Keep unseen. His ears picking up the struggling noises slowly getting closer to his location, Deimos scanned his eyes around the room for an alternate route. Straight ahead of him was a nearly identical passage, though the paladin had not a clue where it led. Gritting his teeth at the ultimatum, he gripped his sword as he ran silently down the opposite hall, praying it would offer him a different escape route.

The winding hallway had several different turn offs, offering similarly matching passages. Grunting in annoyance, the young elf had hoped an escape would be simpler. Seeing shadows of figures cast around a corner from the illuminating torch light, Deimos stopped in his tracks and spun on his heels. Taking the first turn on his left, the paladin ran aimlessly down the hall, hoping to spot some sort of window or exit. Taking an uncertain turn down a left hallway, he continued his directionless running.

Taking several different turns down passageways, Deimos felt a sensation go past his cheek. _A breeze_, he thought with excitement, _I must be by an exit!_ Preparing to turn into a doorway, the sound of fighting caused him to stop before entering.

* * *

Grinning at the fear filled eyes of the young boy, Lardd'za reveled in satisfaction. The boy starred helplessly at the broken bow lying several feet away, rendering him weaponless. Unable to stop the tears filling his young eyes, the boy sent desperate eyes towards his three guards. Lying in a heap on the floor, each were resting in their own blood, a sword wound the origin of the liquid. The young boy sent silent pleas to the dead soldiers to rise, praying that the wounds weren't as deadly as they looked. It was in vain though; the life had long left the bodies.

Approaching the boy slowly, the troll warrior tauntingly spun his sword in his hand. _Kill Ares'mar and the heir to Stormwind. Two birds with one stone_. The boy began to slowly back away, tears spilling down his cheeks as the light glimmered off the bloodied blade. His small frame began to rake with sobs as the troll gave a cruel and sadistic smile to the youth, toying with the small human. His back coming into contact with the stoned wall, the boy uselessly lifted his hands up in defense from the approaching troll. His grin turning into a full smile, Lardd'za brought the blade up high, preparing to strike the heir of Varian Wrynn down. Shutting his eyes and cowering under small arms, the boy tried to prepare himself for the deathly blow.

A breeze past his cheek and a loud bang made Prince Anduin open his eyes in surprise. His mouth fell open at the scene in front of him. The troll's blade, which he expected to be half in his skull, was locked in combat with the glistening of another's blade. Even more shocked, the young prince took in the determined and angry expression on the fair and dirty face of the blood elf. Both combatants pushed with all their might against the other, hoping to win the battle of strengths. The elf's muscles glistened as sweat ran down them from the action, his eyes not leaving the blood red eyes glaring back at him. Anduin slowly began to move towards the open doorway, his eyes not leaving the battling individuals.

Lardd'za gritted his teeth, his eyes roaming the blood elf's face. "Deimos…" The paladin clenched his jaw, applying more pressure to his sword in an angered response.

Seeing movement on the side of his face, Deimos spared a quick glance at the moving boy. _Stupid_… The troll took advantage of the elf's distraction, stepping to the side as he dropped his sword from the clashing. Off balanced, Deimos fell slightly forward, furiously trying to recover; but the damage was done. Twisting around the paladin, Lardd'za slashed his sword at the bare back of the elf. Deimos had expected such a move and compensated by falling forward on his hands and knees. White pain blinded his vision as the young elf felt the hot liquid begin to pour from the deep would on his shoulder. Much to the wound's protest, Deimos rolled on his back to avoid another onslaught. He was surprised when the troll's raised sword wasn't pointed at him but at the young boy, who stopped his movement toward the doorway.

Snarling at the troll, Deimos slid a strong leg under Lardd'za, who fell to the stone on his back with a loud slam. Anduin, fear shaking his form, looked from the downed troll to Deimos, who swiftly picked himself off the floor. Making up his confused mind, the blond boy ran to stand behind the blood elf. Feeling the terrified emotions roll off the young boy, Deimos twirled his sword in his hands expertly, approaching the troll who picked himself off the floor with great speed.

Emitting a grunt at the paladin, the warrior rushed the elf with a downward swing of his weapon. Parrying the blade with expertise, the elf followed up with his own slice, only to find it blocked by his opponent. Attack, block; attack, block. The patterned continued, the two taking part in a deadly dance, just waiting for the other to miss a step. Anduin had kept his distance from the two but was determined to stay behind the blood elf as much as possible.

Annoyed with the waste of time the battle was taking, Ladd'za feigned a swing of his sword at the elf's side. As Deimos pulled his sword down to block the fake attack, he realized his mistake. One hand dropping from the weapon, the troll slammed his plated bracer into Deimos' forehead with strength. Crying out in surprise and pain that erupted, the young elf felt blood begin to flood down the side of his face. Satisfied with the diversion, the troll brought a booted foot to connect with Deimos' stomach, giving a strong push. Stumbling back several paces, the paladin couldn't make his vision cooperate with him; his entire world was in vertigo. Shaking his head to try to clear the cobwebs, Deimos' eyes rested on the troll; who's sword was coming down menacingly on the cringing human boy. Growling at the sight, the elf tried futilely to stop the deadly attack. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder and throbbing wound on his head, the paladin threw himself at the troll.

However, it was too late. With a cry, the boy fell to the ground with a large slash running the length of his chest. Blood began to freely flow from the fatal wound as his eye lids slowly began to close. Trampling the troll to the ground, who was grinning madly, the paladin sent two hard punches to the trolls face. Happy when he saw blood beginning to drip from the troll's pointed nose, the elf kept one hand gripping the troll's neck while the other gripped the sword resting to the side of the two. Ladd'za noticed the movement and, with speed and strength, pushed Deimos off of him with a single arm. Both rolled away from the other, Deimos sending a concerned look at the boy. The small chest moved just slightly, taking in labored breaths. Gritting his teeth, the paladin charged the warrior with a swing attack, twisting at the last moment in hopes of taking his opponent off guard. Though the troll was able to parry the initial attack, he wasn't as lucky with the second that followed up.

Bringing the sword in a downward motion, Deimos grinned when attack came into contact with the troll's exposed back legs. Hissing in pain, Ladd'za fell forward on his knees, the wounded legs unable to support his weight. Without a second thought, Deimos plunged the blade into the back of the troll, giving a satisfied smile when he saw the tip break through his chest. The warrior gave a surprised gasp, looking down in disbelief at the weapon protruding from his body. Sneering at the troll, Deimos sickeningly twisted the blade in his hand. The troll gave a couple gargled breaths, blood beginning to seep from his open mouth. Satisfied, the elf pulled the blade from the warrior. The movement unbalanced the troll, who fell forward on his face, blood pooling around him as he lay lifeless on the floor.

Tossing the sword to the side, Deimos knelt next to the unconscious form of the young human boy. Taking in the deathly wound on his chest and pale complexion, the elf knew he didn't have much time. Focusing on the fading boy, Deimos began to mutter the incantation for Holy Light. Not pausing from his chanting, Deimos faintly noticed voices coming from the passageway outside the room. Eyes roaming the boy, the elf abruptly stopped the enchanted words leaving his mouth. The boy had stopped breathing. Fingers digging in the boy's neck looking for a pulse, he felt a fading rhythm. Swallowing hard at the situation, Deimos saw movement in the doorway as he laid his hands on the princes' chest. Silently concentrating on the spell, his vision began to darken on the edges. Light headed and dizzy, the spell began to effectively take its toll on the tired paladin's body. Watching with satisfaction as the skin torn from the sword wound began to mend itself together, he lifted his hands from the boy to watch his chest rise and fall with a breath. Barely taking notice of the movement on the sides of him, Deimos fell backwards hard on his back; his shoulder wound protesting in agony. Green eyes slowly closing in exhaustion, the last thing the elf saw before he succumbed to darkness was Warren's concerned face.

* * *

**Please review! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Here's chapter six; it's so much longer than I anticipated. I finished up chapter seven last night, and it's slightly shorter than this chapter but still a decent size. I'll try to get that chapter published by either Friday or Saturday. I'm starting on chapter eight tonight so we'll see how writing that goes. There's probably four chapters left; making the story ten chapters long. I may have to add an extra chapter in if the content is simply getting to long to condense. **

**Pain and Betrayal: I'm not usually a fan of cliffhangers; just because I think it's cruel for the readers :). I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter! **

**As always, Blizzard owns everything, minus my original characters. **

* * *

"We don't… much longer…"

Emitting a groan behind closed eyes, Deimos turned his head as consciousness slowly began to seep into him. Voices boomed off the stone walls, irritating his pounding headache. Grimacing his face in pain, the elf brought a hand up to his head in an effort to slow the dizzy spell. Feeling his stomach begin to toss at the lightheaded feeling, the paladin rolled over on his left side in case he got sick. No longer hearing the voices, Deimos slowly opened his eyes cautiously to take in his surroundings.

Lying on his side on the thin mattress, he was in the cell in the Keep. Taking note of the lack of blood and dead troll on the floor, Deimos figured they must have moved him to a different, nearly identical cell. Gingerly bringing his hand up to inspect the wound on his forehead, his fingers brushed against a small soft bandage. His injury had been cleaned and treated. Eyes still trained on the floor, the elf replayed the memories leading up to his loss of consciousness. Remembrance flooding back to him, he recalled the boy's ashen face and sword wound all too fresh in his memory. Trolls were prowling the city, looking to murder him. Jumping to his feet at the thought, Deimos felt the world spin and his stance go unbalanced. The ground felt shaky as he began to fall forward, expecting to feel the hard stone make contact with his body.

Instead, however, he felt strong hands grip around his arms. "Take it easy," a familiar voice sounded. "You took a nasty blow to the head. You're most likely suffering a concussion."

The world righting itself, Deimos found his body half supported by the wall and the other supported by Warren. Inspecting the unfocused eyes of the elf, the man briefly considered calling the priest. Pushing himself off the wall, Deimos felt confident that he would be able to support his weight, the vertigo no longer present. His muscles felt stiff, as if he slept on them wrong. Rolling his shoulders in an attempt to ease the discomfort, Deimos found an unnatural stiffness to one side. Bringing his hand around to inspect it, he found a tight bandage on his wounded shoulder.

Content that the elf was steadier, Warren turned his attention to the two guards standing in the doorway to the cell. With a nod of his head, the sentries entered the small cell. Deimos eyed the approaching guards wearily before turning his still confused gaze to Warren. "The trolls-"

"They retreated," Warren cut him off, eyes roaming the elf's unreadable face.

"And the boy?"

Warren turned to face the guards, taking a pair of iron bindings in his hands. "He's fine." The warrior paused in thought. "Thanks to you."

Deimos mutely nodded at the response, his eyes taking in the manacles before turning a questioning gaze at Warren. His headache reduced to a dull throb, the elf felt more level headed. "We're leaving already?"

Stepping behind the stationary elf, Warren tensed up as he grabbed the limp arms to pull behind the elf's back. It seemed the boy was still too bemused and disoriented to hold much of a fight; making his job all the easier. "You have your sentencing hearing," Warren replied in a quiet voice, tightening the manacles around the paladin's forearms.

Sighing to himself, Deimos had almost forgotten. Without his makeshift lockpick, he was at a loss for an escape plan. Eyes roaming the cell again, he noticed there was no fel ore, leaving that option out. He had little time to think of one, knowing his sentence would probably bring him back to the Stockades; which would most likely be his execution site. Gritting his teeth at his situation, Deimos mentally kicked himself at his actions.

A small push on middle of his back brought Deimos out of his thoughts. Walking forward, Deimos kept his head raised high as he stepped out of his cell, Warren on one side and a guard on the other. Though he was walking to receive his death sentence, the paladin refused to let his strong front fall. He was raised tougher and better than that, never to show your enemies your weakness. Placing an arrogant sneer on his face, the elf kept his shoulders back and chest proud. Weaving through various hallways, Deimos' mind was reeling about possible escape solutions. He realized with a heavy heart, his time was running short.

* * *

Stepping up to the table, Warren moved behind the elf as he unlocked the bindings from his arms. Arms hanging flaccidly at his sides, Deimos spared a hard look at Warren, who returned it equally. The courtroom was silent, the entrance of the prisoner causing the room's inhabitants to cease their conversations to inspect him. The men making up the council, minus the king, were already seated facing the elf. Instead of angry gazes, however, each held a curious one. Warren broke the stare, moving to take his place at the long table. Sitting down with a sigh, the older warrior was at least comforted knowing the sentencing wouldn't take long. Chewing his inner cheek to stop the grin that threatened to spread, Warren was unsure of what the elf's reaction would be to the sentence given.

The opening of the thick walnut doors made everyone turn their heads to the back of the room, including Deimos. Walking proudly down the hallway was the king, several guards accompanying him on each side. The sovereign kept his gaze straight ahead with an unreadable expression, heavy steps landing with a loud thud. Approaching the table, his guards broke off from their positions next to the king as he took his spot at the middle of the table. Sending a quick glance to Warren, Wrynn offered the man a small smile, who returned it with mirth in his eyes. The roomful of citizens waited patiently while the king turned his attention to a pile of parchment sitting in front of him. Deimos, however, wasn't as tolerant. A minute passed, the room still covered in silence. Clearing his throat, the elf gave a cocky smile to the king, who looked up at the interruption.

Eyes squinting as he took in the young elf in front of him, Wrynn placed the parchment back down on the table. "Deimos Ares'mar, after much liberation," Deimos gave a snort, which Wrynn promptly ignored, "I have reached a verdict for your charges."

Pausing to read a piece of parchment, Wrynn held his voice firm and strong. "To the charge of voluntary manslaughter, guilty. To the charge of arson, guilty. To the charge of battery and assault, guilty. Charge of criminal mischief and trespassing, guilty. To the charge of first degree murder, guilty. Vicarious liability for manslaughter, guilty. To the charge of acts of terrorism, guilty." Taking a pause to glance at the elf, Wrynn didn't see a change from his cocky smile, his eyes holding amusement at the verdicts. "To the charge of receiving stolen property, guilty. And finally, to the charge of espionage, guilty." Placing the list of parchment down, Wrynn stared down at the young elf. "Do you have questions regarding your verdicts?"

Shrugging, Deimos crossed his arms arrogantly over his bare chest. "Nothing I didn't expect."

Giving a disapproving look at the attitude the elf offered in response, the king picked up a small stack of parchment, giving it a quick look over before raising his eyes to meet to meet the elf's. "We are now ready to commence with the sentencing."

Deimos unconsciously felt his muscles tense, his jaw setting itself. His green eyes intensely bore into the king, waiting to hear the inevitable. While he was expecting the execution sentence, the elf still couldn't stop his heart from beating through his chest or the butterflies in his stomach. If Wrynn noticed a change in the elf's demeanor, he didn't allude to it. Instead, he gripped the parchment in his hands, his strong gaze holding the paladin's.

"Deimos Ares'mar, I have taken in consideration the sheer magnitude and severity of your crimes to help determine a fitting punishment. For one so young, you have a gross amount of distressing and repulsive offenses against you," Pausing, the king watched as Deimos sent his eyes to the stone floor, his gaze no longer meeting his. Placing the small pile of parchment on the table, the king felt a small tug on his lips. "However, I also know that I owe my son's life to you."

Snapping his eyes up from the stoned floor, Deimos met the softer gaze from the king. The diplomats seemed to shift uncomfortably in their chairs at the change in tone, Warren being the only one to keep an even and unmoved facial expression. "For that," Wrynn began, taking in the curious green eyes gazing at him, "the kingdom of Stormwind and myself are in debt to you."

Pausing to spare a quick glance at Warren, who returned it evenly, the king continued. "I've re-discussed your sentencing with my council, taking your… recent activities into consideration. While your actions last night do not redeem you from your appalling crimes, it does change the situation."

Deimos, as much as he tried, couldn't hide the surprised and shocked expression on his face, his mouth falling slightly agape at the change in direction the sentencing had taken. He was surely expecting a death sentence. Warren felt a grin go across his face as he watched the cocky smile be replaced with astonishment.

"You're sentence is city arrest," Wrynn continued, the elf's eyes roaming the sovereigns face in pure confusion. _What the hell. City arrest…_ "Except for the Harbor, you are allowed to walk freely within the city's walls. However, you must always be escorted by a guard or soldier," the king's voice took a darker and firmer tone to it as he leaned forward on his elbows. "If you are seen holding a weapon or if suspected you are escaping, you will be killed immediately. Any questions?"

Mind still reeling at the new and unique sentence, Deimos' eyes scanned the ground in thought. He was pretty much being let off clean, no death sentence or being chained behind bars. It seemed too… easy. Would the Alliance really let a soldier of the Horde walk freely around their precious city? There must have been some kind of catch. Turning his eyes up to meet the king's, Deimos regarded him skeptically. "So, I'm free to come and go from the Stocks?"

Shaking his head in response to the confused boy, Wrynn felt a tugging on his lips. "You will not be staying in the Stockades. Commander Steele has been generous enough to offer his home to you."

Eyebrows drawn together in confusion at the name, Deimos squinted at the sovereign in confusion. "Who?"

With hilarity on his face, the king tilted his head at Warren, who had an amused grin spreading across his features. Realization smacked into the elf. "Old school?!"

Warren gave an entertained chuckle at the distraught and baffled boy, his voice dripping with mockery. "We already have such a good relationship; I figured you'd be thrilled."

Eyeing the chuckling warrior suspiciously, the elf turned his attention back to the king, trying to find his voice. "How long?"

Tensing his posture up at the question, the king leaned back in his chair. "You will be allowed to leave the city walls a fortnight after the Midsummer Festival."

Gritting his teeth in the anger, Deimos found the catch to the "easy" sentence. The trolls would have assassinated his leader by the time he was strolling out of Stormwind. Willing himself to calm down, the sentence still offered the paladin time to send word to Silvermoon. "And the people of Stormwind, they know not to kill me?"

Having already thought ahead, the king firmly nodded at Deimos, who still kept a cynical look on his face. "Public announcements have been dispersed through the city informing them." Wrynn paused as he eyed the still dumbstruck elf. "Now, do you have any more questions?"

Mutely, the elf gave a small shake of his head, unable to find words. His gaze still fastened on the floor in thought, the whole situation felt surreal to him. He had been expecting and preparing for a sentence much dire than what he received.

The king gave a satisfied smile and sigh, standing to address the crowded and silent room. The citizens were just as dumbfounded as the elf was. Word had quickly spread about the assault on the young prince the previous night, including the hero that saved his life. Not sure what to do with the information, some residents refused to believe it while others curiously wondered about the mysterious Horde soldier. The sentence had been unexpected for them though. To the king's relief, there had been no outcries from the pack of people when he announced the sentence.

"That concludes today's meeting," the king's baritone voice bellowed throughout the room, "I thank you for attending. Please help yourself to refreshments in the hall."

As Deimos stood with feet planted on the stone, he was unsure what to do with himself as the throng of citizens began to disperse from the courtroom. Conversations erupted about the sentence, some finding it too lenient while others felt it fair; all reaching Deimos' pointed ears. Standing awkwardly while the assembly of humans began to rise from their seated positions in front of him, Deimos kept his gaze on the floor. Unsure of what to do with himself with his presence obviously forgotten, the paladin shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. Feeling movement to his right, the young elf raised his eyes to meet amused brown ones.

"Ready to go," Warren began, "or do you maybe want to stay here until the king changes his mind?"

Looking at the older human, the elf tried to conjure a cocky smile, which came out more like a half grin. "Where are we going?"

Grabbing the elbow of the elf, the warrior began to pull the hesitant youth towards the doorway. "Anywhere but here. I hate politics, and this place is reaping of it."

Smirking at the warriors comment, Deimos allowed himself to be led into the hall. Eyes and curious stares immediately turned in the duo's direction, conversations turning into whispered gossip. Glancing at a group of soldiers that tensed at the site of the blood elf, Deimos gave a small smirk and raised his hand in a mock wave. "At ease, gentlemen." Pulling the cocky elf further down the hall, Warren mutely wondered if it was too late to take back his offer to the king. Housing the arrogant and cocky elf had seemed harmless to the warrior when the king approached him hours ago. Glancing at Deimos as his outreach hand grabbed an apple off a table, the older man wasn't so sure anymore.

Exiting the crowded Keep, Deimos squinted his eyes at the morning sun that beat down on him. Glancing at the older man, who made a left when leaving the fortress, the elf followed while his eyes roamed the large city. "So where we headed, old man?"

Regarding the young elf with a quick side glance, the warrior seemed to quicken his step. "My name is Warren. And we're going to my house."

Grinning at the quick scowl that crossed the humans face, Deimos smirked. "So I assume you've got the whole shebang; wife, kids, cat, dog…"

Laughing at the elf, Warren took a left down a tunnel leading to his neighborhood: Old Town. Though it wasn't as lavish as Cathedral Square, it was the warrior's home. He grew up in a house that used to stand in the area, making the small community hold a dear place in his heart. Though some regarded it as second rate, Warren wouldn't trade it for any flat next to the Cathedral of Light. It offered comfort and convenience; located close to the Command Center. His eyes falling on the Pig and Whistle Tavern sign, Warren turned to glanced at the paladin. "Sorry, hotshot. Just going to be you and me."

Eyes roaming the cobblestoned streets, wooden houses, and red roofs, Deimos felt oddly out of place. There were no flower pots floating with the aid of magic, no intricate stucco designs, or lavish fountains. It was simple, but still held character to it. Watching as a group of kids ran around in a part of the street, a dog barking at their heels while they giggled merrily, Deimos found the two cities strikingly different. "So what's the plan? Cause after being fed a couple crumbs of bread for days, I'm starved."

Grinning with a shake of his head, Warren stopped his walking to look the elf up and down with a smirk. "The first thing you're doing is bathing. I'm sure the Lich King could smell you from here. And I'm not going to have you stinking up my house."

Continuing their pace, Deimos glanced down at himself. His chest was covered in a mix of filth and blood from the following night, his pants having several tears in them. Unconsciously feeling his matted hair, he knew his face was equally as dirty. Stepping on a pointed stone for what seemed like the millionth time since they began their walk, Deimos winced in pain. "Can I get some clothes and boots too?"

Chuckling at the distressed elf, Warren stopped in front of a house. "Once you've cleaned yourself up, we'll get you something."

Nodding in reply, Deimos turned his attention to the house the two stopped in front of. It was a good size home, several potted flowers sitting on the modest wooden porch. A couple steps led up to the porch of the home, the wood desperately needing care. The porch also showed signs of wear, the warped planks and splinters jagging out giving evidence to it. Two windows on the second floor had similar potted flowers hanging on the sills. Walking up the steps, Deimos cringed as he felt the wood particles enter his bare feet. He turned to Warren, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "You know, old school, you should consider letting someone look at this porch."

Turning an iron key in the front door, the warrior ignored the mocking comment. Giving a push on the rounded door with his hand, Warren was welcomed to his humble home with a smile.

Walking behind the man, Deimos peered around Warren's frame to get a better look at his temporary residence. Entering what he assumed to be a foyer, the young elf took in his surroundings. To the left was a set of wooden stairs with a matching railing leading up to the second level. The whole house was floored in the wooden planks, giving it a more rustic look. The foyer had an ornate rug lying across the threshold. The faded reds and blues on the rug gave the elf the impression that it hadn't been cleaned in quite a while. Next to the front door was a long coffee table, bearing nothing on its surface. To the right of the entrance was a sitting room. The dirt collecting on the stoned fireplace tucked in the corner told Deimos the room wasn't used often. A plush blue couch with a matching white arm chair surrounded a short oak table. A large window allowed the morning sun to illuminate the rooms' contents. Though nicely placed, the lack of upkeep was apparent from the fading upholstery.

Sighing to himself, Deimos knew it was nothing compared to his home at Silvermoon City. It lacked the hanging silk cloths, golden fixtures, and dramatic tones. Modest and humble, the home offered an empty feeling to Deimos. The staircase wasn't circular like the style of the blood elf's, instead having steep steps. Above all else, it lacked the cleanliness the Sin'dorei sought after. Though considered clean for humans, Deimos' keen eyes immediately found the centimeter of dust collecting on the tables, the crumbs scratching his feet, and the curtains that needed to be washed. Glancing up, even the low wooden ceiling made Deimos sigh. He knew it would take time getting used to the loss of the beautiful architecture his home offered.

Taking his weapon from his waist, Warren placed the sword on the table in the foyer. Watching as Deimos' eyes roamed the house; the man noticed a slight frown from the paladin. "What's wrong hotshot? Decorating not to your standards?"

"No," Deimos replied, grinning egotistically at the man, "As long as you don't mind a demeaning middle class lifestyle."

"I'm glad you like it," Warren said sarcastically with a grunt at the younger elf's comment. Stepping forward, the man turned towards the stairs. "Your room's up here. I'll give you the grand tour after you've bathed. I don't want you trailing dirt everywhere."

"As if you'd notice with the rest of the filth around this house…"

Turning to glare at Deimos, Warren met feigned innocent green eyes. "What was that?"

The elf gave a confused shrug. "I didn't say anything."

Scowling at the attitude, Warren climbed the stairs, the elf shortly behind. Reaching the second floor, the warrior paused as his eyes roamed the hall. Pointing to a shut door on the left, Warren addressed the elf. "That's my room. There should be no reason you go in there. Understood?"

"What if I get scared at night? Can I wake you up?"

Rolling his eyes at the sarcastic remark, the warrior continued, pointing to a room in the middle of the corridor. "That's the bathroom. There's a well on the side of the house for water." Turning to look at the elf, the man continued. "There's one bathroom and two of us. And I'm not used to sharing. So you get a max of ten minutes in there."

Deimos scrunched his brows in fake confusion. "Does the timer start when I'm drawing the bath or when I actually get in it?"

"The timer starts when I say it starts."

The elf crossed his arms over his chest, a mocking look on his face. "And does this rule apply to you?"

"No. My house, my bathroom, my rules. Get used to it." Turning away from the sarcastic boy, Warren walked towards the right side of the curving hallway. Reaching two rooms, Warren pointed to the first one. "This is a study. Feel free to use it." Nodding at the warrior and eyeing the bare contents, Deimos turned his attention to the next room.

"This is your room. If you want privacy, keep your door closed. I expect you to keep it neat and orderly. I'm not your mother, I won't pick up after you," Warren watched as the elf slowly walked around the room, inspecting the lonesome bed that was placed up against the far wall.

"Well," Deimos replied with a dramatic sigh, "It's a not a complete wreck. I mean, it'll do."

"Your cell in the Stockades is always available for you."

Chuckling at the comment, Deimos ran his hand over the comforter that covered the bed. It was soft material, but nothing compared to the fine silks and Netherweave cloth he was used to. Fingering the material, the elf figured it was at least Runecloth. His eyes running the length of the bed, Deimos again sighed at the sight. Square and plain, the elf missed his rounded plush bed from Silvermoon. Offering only a modest brown headboard, Deimos longed to see the bold framework his own bed offered. The walls were plain, contrasting with the intricate woodwork and colors Silvermoon had. Pulling a door in the corner open, Deimos scanned an empty large closet. Shutting the closet, the paladin turned towards the warrior.

"What times lunch?"

Shaking his head while leaving the elf, Warren gestured to the bathroom while on his way to the staircase. "You better start hauling some water for a bath. I'll lend you some clothes, but don't be surprised if they don't fit."

Following the gesture, the elf eyed the bathroom. Surprised and slightly impressed with the indoor plumbing, Deimos picked up a wooden bucket resting to the side of a porcelain tub. The paladin scanned his eyes over the vials of liquid sitting next to the bathtub, assuming they were soaps. Leaving the small room, the elf began his descent down the creaking stairs, pail in hand. Warren had disappeared somewhere in the house, leaving the elf to draw his bath in blissful silence.

* * *

After wrapping a towel around his waist, Deimos ran a hand through his damp short hair. Looking at his reflection in the vanity mirror that hung on a wall over a basin, the elf was satisfied with his image. His body no longer reeked of the stench the Stockades cursed him with. The blood and dirt scrubbed from his skin, the elf's fair complexion shined with cleanliness. His hair was no longer matted to his head, holding its usual spiky style. Glancing at the dirty water that drained from the tub, the paladin felt content with himself. Squinting at his reflection, he brought a hand up to brush against the lesion on his forehead with a frown.

Gripping the basin on either side, Deimos tilted his head down slightly in concentration. His eyes glossed over in thought as his mouth began to murmur the enchanted words to Holy Light. Focusing his attention on the head and shoulder wounds that still ached, he felt his energy slowly depleting as his skin began to tingle. Finishing up the incantation, the elf tiredly watched the skin mend itself together, leaving his forehead unblemished. Grinning at his handiwork, Deimos unconsciously checked the tightness of the towel still wrapped around his hips before pulling the door to the bathroom open.

Stopping in midstep, the young elf physically backpedaled at the figure standing in the hall leaning lazily against the wall. Warren regarded the surprised elf with a raised eyebrow and amused face. "You had one minute left."

Rolling his green eyes, Deimos made his way to his room. "So if I was one minute late, you'd bust down the door?"

His bare feet padding on the wooden floorboards as he walked across the threshold, Deimos noticed a bundle of clothes in the older man's arms. Warren followed the elf into the room, dropping the bunch on the cream colored comforter that adorned the bed. The elf eyed the clothes, sending a curious gaze to the older man. Warren pointed to a pair of boots at the end of the bed. "I'm not sure if they'll fit or not but they'll do for now."

Quickly eyeing the pair of boots and the clothes sitting on the bed, Deimos gave a small nod. The sun's rays from the closed window gave evidence that the morning was turning into afternoon. Feeling his stomach clenching itself in hunger, the elf mutely pondered if humans ate their meals differently from the Sin'dorei. The apple he stole from the table in the Keep was barely tiding him over. He was used to eating hearty meals; the diet of a prisoner was catching up to him.

Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, the elf eyed the human. "So, you plan on standing there while I dress or can I get some privacy?"

Shaking his head at the elf, Warren muttered under his breath while leaving the room. "Not a single 'thank you, Warren'. Or, 'I really appreciate you doing this.'"

Smirking as he shut his door, Deimos approached the rolled up ball of clothes lying on his bed. Curiously, he untangled a white shirt from the bundle. It was made of scratchy material, most likely linen cloth and had sleeves that stopped a quarter inch from the wrist. Turning his gaze towards the pants, he lifted them off the bed, shaking the piece of clothing to get a better look at it. The pants were made from light leather, the tan color showing little wear. Eyeing the length, Deimos assumed the bottoms were meant to reach the wearers ankles. Dropping the pants back on the bed, he turned his attention to the pair of leather boots placed in front of the bed. Scratches and dirt marking the sides, the boots looked used and worn.

Sighing to himself, Deimos pulled the shirt over his head, frowning at the stiff material on his skin. Slightly too small for him, the cloth didn't hang loosely from his form, instead clinging more to his upper torso. The sleeves stopped in the middle of his forearms, giving evidence to the small sized shirt. Frowning at the thought of the pants, the elf proceeded to pull on the leathered clothing. The tightness didn't seem to be an issue, the material hanging generously from his legs. Raising an eyebrow at the length, the bottoms stopped mid calf. Knowing the fit could have been significantly worse, the paladin sat down on the bed as he prepared to pull on the boots.

Sitting on the bed, Deimos realized his mistake too late. The mattress was plush and overstuffed, his entire body erupting into pleasure at the feeling. While the material wasn't to his usual standards, it was a major improvement from the wool fabric the Stockades offered or the several inch mattress from the Keep. Pulling himself to the middle of the bed, Deimos fell back against the soft material, his head landing on a pillow. Similar to the bed, the pillow paled in comparison to those from Silvermoon. However, it still offered much more comfort than the elf experienced in quite some time.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Deimos pondered his current situation. While he was still technically a convicted offender and sentenced, he was given a lenient punishment. Still, he had to somehow get word to Silvermoon or another blood elf about the impending attack. Correspondence to Silvermoon City would be close to impossible from Stormwind. The sheer distance between the two cities and territories in between would make it extremely difficult to send word directly. Considering his options, Deimos knew he would have to send a message a different way, to a more localized or closer ally. Carefully, the paladin began to think if any battalions were stationed closer.

* * *

Reading the same line over for what seemed like the hundredth time, Warren sighed impatiently. The report in front of him was from the Silverwing Sentinels in Ashenvale. The problem growing with the orc's that called themselves the Warsong Outriders, the leader of the Silverwing Sentinels was requesting assistance from the Alliance. The king had been quick to pass it on to Warren, thinking it was a possibility that his company could aid them. Having received the report some months ago, Warren was ashamed to admit he hadn't given it much thought. His battalion was sent to scout the meeting in the Burning Steppes, after which he assumed he'd head to the other continent to help. Shaking his head at the thought of the extra baggage they brought back to the city, things didn't turn out like they were supposed to. Grinning at the strange turn of recent events, Warren wondered what fate was thinking when deciding the past week. A month ago the warrior would have run his sword through a blood elf on sight; now he was sharing his bathroom with one.

Standing up from the thick wooden table, the man scrunched his eyebrows in confusion at what was taking the elf so long. Getting dressed wasn't a difficult process, or at least he hoped it wasn't. His mind briefly panicking, Warren wondered if the boy had somehow managed to escape. The only blood elf in the city of Stormwind, he doubted he would get far. But still, the mere thought of failing his king at the given assignment was enough to make adrenaline rush through his veins. His boots falling on the hardwood floor with a booming resonance, the warrior darted out of the kitchen. Skidding to a halt in front of the foyer table, the older man pulled his sword from its sheath, which remained resting on the long table. He didn't remember hearing the front door open, making the only possible escape route the bedroom window. Imagining the paladin scaling down the front of the house made Warren fear even worse. Taking the creaking steps two at a time, Warren kept his blade at the ready. Reaching the shut door of the elf's room within three large steps, the warrior threw it open. The brute force applied to the door caused it to make a slamming contact with the back wall.

Expecting to feel the breeze of an open window and see an empty room, Warren felt his feet turn to lead as he reached the middle of the room. His sword hanging limply at his side, the warrior thought himself foolish. Lying in the middle of the bed was Deimos, his head turned to the side in slumber. Feeling inane and ridiculous at his sudden and impulsive actions, the warrior considered silently leaving. Movement from the sleeping form caused him to stop. The head turned and tired green eyes met his brown ones. Unable to bring himself to say anything, the older man looked blankly at the elf.

"So is this what happens if I take too long in the bathroom?"

The comment shaking him from his reverie, Warren glanced from the sword to the elf. Propping himself up on his elbows, Deimos eyed the glimmering sword with mirth. "I… you weren't… I thought…"

Eyebrows rising in surprise, the elf chuckled. "You thought I tried to run for it? Man, I know you're old but I didn't think you were senile."

Warren scowled at the comment. "I didn't realize you decided to take a nap. A little heads up next time would be appreciated."

"So now I have to tell you everything I do?"

"In my house, yes," Pausing at the harshness in his voice, Warren considered his words, taking in the angered elf's face. "At least until we can get on the same page."

The resentment slowly fading from his face, Deimos just nodded at the remark. In all honesty, the paladin hadn't planned on napping. The comfort of the bed and exhaustion from recent activities had lulled him to sleep.

"It's noon now," Warren began, still feeling foolish holding the sword, "If you want to rest for a couple hours, we can go to the tailor later."

Pushing himself in a sitting position, the elf shook his head. "I'm fine. And as attractive as I look in these clothes, they're uncomfortable."

"I told you they wouldn't fit. You've got three inches on me. Do the boots fit?"

Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, Deimos shook his head. "Haven't tried them yet."

Warren nodded distractedly. "Alright. Want to finish the tour of the house now or when we get back?"

The paladin shrugged, pushing himself to the bottom of the bed. Grabbing one of the boots, he inspected it. "Whatever. Doesn't matter to me."

Watching the elf as he pulled the boot on, Warren saw a surprised look cross his face. "They fit?"

"Shockingly."

The warrior waited patiently while the young elf pulled the other boot on, awkwardly gripping the sword in hand. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Satisfied when Deimos stood to his feet, Warren gestured to door. "Good. I'll finish showing you around."

Walking down the stairs, Deimos fidgeted in the stiff and tight shirt. While the boots fit, he wasn't used to the light leather that they were constructed of. Though he wore leather boots outside of comba normally, he was accustomed to knothide leather; not the light. Grimacing at the cheap material, he figured it was just another thing he'd have to get used to.

Going down a narrow corridor to the left of the stairs, Deimos entered a large open room. Two great windows on the far wall bathed the space with the sun. On one side was a long rectangle table, its thick wood showing wear from the numerous cuts and chunks missing. Equally worn chairs were pushed in around the sides of it, six total. Biting his cheek at the plain furniture, Deimos mutely wondered if humans completely lacked creativity. On the other side of the room was a large basin, surrounded by cupboards and cabinets. A small fireplace was nestled in the corner with a black kettle hanging on the wall next to it. A large area rug was laid on the floor, its intricate designs not as bold from the covering of dirt and grime.

Warren walked further into the room. "This is the kitchen. I don't cook. So if you're hungry, you'll have to make it yourself."

Curiously opening up several cupboards to see unused pots and pots, Deimos greedily grabbed a piece of cinnamon bread from a bag. "You don't eat?"

Rolling his eyes at the sarcastic comment, the warrior leaned against the doorframe. "There's a tavern a block from here. You'll get well acquainted with it."

Sighing to himself, the elf lazily walked to the long table. Running his hand over the warped wood, he winced as he felt splinters enter his skin. About to give a smart comment to the human, his attention was drawn to a stack of papers at the head of the table. Swallowing the last piece of his snack, Deimos let his eyes roam the first page. _Commander Swiftarrow, on behalf of the Silverwing Sentinels, requests the assistance of Alliance forces to Ashenvale. See attached officers' reports pertaining to, and the increasing threat of Horde_-

A firm and fast hand snatched the stack of parchment out of the elf's line of vision. Raising his eyes, Deimos met Warren's hard gaze. Clutching the parchment against his chest, the older man regarded the young elf with a tough glare. "I think it's best if you don't read our reports. Don't forget your place; you're still a Horde soldier, living in an Alliance city."

Shrugging at the glare, Deimos gave a cocky smile as he crossed his arms over his chest arrogantly. "You know, you should let me look at that," he gestured to the bundle of parchment with a shrug of his shoulders. "I might be able to help."

Warren eyed the egotistical elf skeptically. "Why would I let a Horde soldier look at our reports?"

"For some reason, I don't think the Sin'dorei will be aligned with the Horde much longer."

His hard stare not wavering, Warren took in the elf's face. His arrogant façade fell for a split second, allowing the human to see a dark and dreadful face. But as quick as it fell, the smirk was back on his features. Allowing his hard stare to soften lightly, the warrior turned the parchment over, replacing it back on the long table. "Be that as it may, your race still bears the insignia of the Horde. Stay away from reports and any military oriented business."

"I was raised as a soldier, how am I going to do that?"

"Try."

Rolling his eyes at Warren, Deimos eyed the kitchen. "So is this the whole house, old man?"

Pursing his lips at the lack of proper title used, the warrior nodded his head towards a wooden door placed off to the side of the kitchen. "Almost."

Pulling the thick door open with slight force, Warren began to descend the stairs to the lower level. Deimos following shortly behind, the elf dully noted the drop in temperature. The wooden stairs creaked in protest from both of their weight. His foot making contact with a stone floor, the elf ran his eyes over the stoned walls and ceiling. The only light illuminating the room was from the open door at the top of the stairs. Still, his keen eyesight was able to make out the large wooden kegs lining a long wall. On the opposite wall was an equally long wine rack, though only a handful of bottles took up space.

Grinning, Deimos pulled a bottle from the rack. "Junglevine Wine? I take it you don't drink wine very often."

"And based on your high maintenance attitude, I take it you do."

Smirking while replacing the bottle, Deimos read the rest of the low end labels. "I'm surprised there's no boxed wine."

Warren promptly ignored the sarcastic comment. "This is the cellar. The bourbon and mead are off limits. Milk and juice are around the corner," the man pointed towards a darker area to the basement. "If you use something up, replace it."

"Can I drink the wine?"

Warren eyed his bare collection of bottles, feeling compelled to say no. While the bottles collected more dust than anything, he liked the idea of being able to offer the spirit to a guest. "You can drink it casually. That means a glass a day. And if you drink it, you replace it."

Deimos rolled his eyes at the sternness in the man's voice. "Yes, _Ann'da_." (**Dad**)

The man gave the elf a pointed look, moving to climb the stairs. "And speak Common in this house. Remember; my house, my rules."

"_Vendel'o eranu_." (**Help me forget**)

Reaching the kitchen from the steps, Warren sent his hardened gaze at the amused elf. "I'm fluent in Thalassian, hotshot."

His amused look fading to annoyance, Deimos was slightly surprised and curious. The language was native to the Sin'dorei, a derivative of the tongue of the night elves. For a human to be proficient in the language was odd, as there would have been little time for them to learn it.

The elf gave a shrug. He would press the subject later. "So about this tailor you were talking about…"

Grateful at the change of subject, Warren nodded thoughtfully to the paladin, beginning his approach to the front door. "Yes, she's probably expecting us. I had word sent to her that we were coming today."

Watching as the older man strapped his sword to its proper place on his waist, Deimos felt naked without his trusted weapon. He felt awkward watching the warrior arm himself, absent mindedly pulling at the itchy sleeves. Checking the straps on the sword with a quick jerk, Warren was satisfied with the setting. Pulling the door open, the man eyed the elf hesitantly. "You're father ever tell you about the prejudice humans have against blood elves?"

The abrupt question taking him by surprise, Deimos raised his eyebrows. "He never really talked about humans to me."

Warren nodded thoughtfully; eyeing the elf's confused face. "Older generations of humans, like mine, are prejudice against your race. You're going to draw attention from people. Do not antagonize them."

"Do I get some kind of weapon to protect myself?"

"That's what I'm here for. And you're not allowed to hold weapons, remember?"

Rolling his eyes, Deimos gave a heavy sigh. Having to constantly look over his shoulder was going to become frustrating, even if Warren was there to help. The thought of relying on the human warrior was enough to make a sour feeling in the elf's stomach. He was raised to never trust anyone with his life; people would just let him down. The only two individuals he had ever relied on was his father and Brightwing, and that was only until he was old enough to fend for himself. Swallowing hard, Deimos knew he had no choice in the matter. While he could defend himself in hand-to-hand combat, the paladin doubted himself against a horde of armed citizens. If they wanted his blood, they would find a way to get it.

* * *

"Can you please stand still?"

"So, my stuff is where?!"

"Sir, please-"

"It's in the Keep. We seized it as evidence when we captured you."

Sighing to herself, Lisbeth Schneider leaned back against the wall, measuring tape in hand. The tailor had been futilely trying for the past twenty minutes to get the elf to cooperate for his measurements. Initially, the young woman had begun sizing him without any issues. When the elf asked Warren where his possessions were, an argument had broken out. The two men ignored her pleas to keep their voices down, each throwing comments back and forth. The paladin had disregarded her request for him to stay stationary for the umpteenth time, rendering her job useless. She couldn't get a proper and accurate measurement with him fidgeting around. Pushing a loose strand of golden red hair behind her ear, she waited patiently while the two faced off.

"I'm getting it back though, right?"

"Probably not."

"What?! You impudent-" Deimos abruptly stopped in his ranting, his unnatural greens eyes meeting the soft blues of Lisbeth's. Her innocent face returned his angry one. Eyeing the young woman, the elf turned his rage back to the warrior. Opening his mouth to continue the verbal assault, an angry stream of Thalassian came out of his mouth.

Twisting her engagement ring on her left finger nervously, Lisbeth watched as the older man's face flush with anger. Unable to understand the foreign language, she assumed the harsh tone matched the words coming out of the elf's mouth. She briefly wondered if a guard should be notified for the elf's growing fury, but a quick glance at weapon on the warrior's waist stopped her. The man was fully capable of taking care of the elf.

The foreign tongue coming to a stop, Warren regarded the angered elf with a skeptical look, his anger having died down. Sparing a quick glance at the young woman, he replied in Common. "Is it your weapon or your armor that you want so badly?"

Deimos gave a sigh, contemplating which tongue to respond it. His ferocity ebbing away from his features, he responded in a calmer voice in Common. "Neither. I want my necklace."

Warren held an even gaze with the elf, his mind going back to the day of his capture. Mentally running through all the different possessions they seized from him, the warrior thought back to the necklace. Realization dawned on him. "It's your family's heirloom."

Nodding at the warrior, the boy refused to break the stare. While he would miss his sword, obtaining a new one wouldn't be particularly difficult. He had been contemplating getting fitted for new armor anyways. However, the necklace had been a gift from his father the night after the raid on Stormwind four years prior. The elf would never forget the proudness in his father's eye as he took the necklace off himself and presented it to Deimos.

"I'll see if I can arrange to pick it up from the vault. I'm not promising anything though."

Giving a relieved sigh, Lisbeth sensed the argument coming to an end. Cautiously approaching the tall elf, she offered him a sheepish smile. "You ready to finish now?"

Embarrassment flushing into his fair cheeks, Deimos felt his face burn red. "Yeah," he replied awkwardly. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," the tailor replied lightly, giving a small smile as she pulled the measuring tape around his waist. "I get it all time. Brides with their mothers and attendants; those are the worst."

Slightly confused at the ramblings from the human woman, Deimos mutely wondered what she was talking about. Sending Warren a confused look, the man shook his head in bafflement as well. "Yeah, I guess."

"I mean it," the tailor continued, jotting down numbers on her piece of parchment that sat on the side. She gave a small laugh, moving behind the elf with the tape. "Sometimes I think I'd rather face the Horde then a bride on a power trip."

Dropping her tape, Lisbeth gave a small gasp as she realized her words. Bringing her hand up to her mouth in horror, she shook her head. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-"

Chuckling at the awkward girl, Deimos turned to look at her; which only seemed to put her on edge even worse. "Don't worry about it. I have no idea what you're talking about, but it sounds pretty bad if you want to take on a whole army alone."

Her blue eyes still full of sheer terror, the tailor gingerly retrieved the tape from its dropped position on the floor. Nodding to the elf, Lisbeth decided that it would probably be best if she kept her mouth closed. Deimos turned back to his position, allowing the tailor to continue. Feeling the tape wrap itself around his shoulders, he spared a glance at Warren. The warrior had an amused look on his face.

"You have broad shoulders" the tailor said, scribbling on the parchment. "Are you a warrior or a paladin?"

Deimos raised a delicate eyebrow at the question. "Paladin. You could figure that out based on my size?"

Giving a small smile, Lisbeth approached the elf again. "Tricks of the trade I guess," She paused in front of him. "We're almost done. I'm going to finish your measurements for pants and pass it on to Simon Tanner. He runs the Protective Hide; it's a leather shop in Old Town." She paused for second considering her words, a panicked look sweeping her face. "But, I mean, I just assumed you'd want leather pants and not cloth because you're wearing leather now. If you want cloth, I can-"

Lifting a hand at the rambling tailor, Deimos eyed her strangely. "Leather is fine." _Human women are insane. It's no wonder Warren didn't take a wife. _

Biting her lower lip, Lisbeth fingered her measuring tape resting in her hands as she nodded at the elf. Silently stepping behind Deimos, she crouched down into a squat to get the girth of his pelvis for the leathering shop. Her hands going around the sides of the elf to put the tap in place, she prepared to get the measurements.

"Whoa," A strong hand grasped her thin wrists, pulling them away from the front of his pants. Turning around on his heels to regard the woman, Deimos gave her an uncomfortable look. Her blue eyes full of confusion, she cocked her head questioningly.

Deimos shifted awkwardly on his feet. "Look, I don't know how your human culture is but this considered inappropriate for mine. I'm a young single male, you're an engaged young woman with your hands…" struggling to find the correct words, the elf gestured to his hips, "…down there… it's just… inappropriate."

Hearing chuckling to his left, Deimos turned his attention from the confused tailor to the laughing older man. Immediately turning the laugh into a cough, the warrior returned Deimos' annoyed glare with an equal one. "Deimos… while your intentions are honorable, this is part of her job."

"Yes," Lisbeth took a deep sigh, trying to hide the smile that was creeping on her face. "There's nothing… inappropriate about this."

Eyeing her skeptically, the elf reluctantly turned back around. Fidgeting as he felt the hands and tape cross over his lower hips, he spared another annoyed glance at Warren. A grin on the human's face caused Deimos to scowl even more. _I take it back; this entire race is insane. _

Finishing up several more sizings on the paladin, Lisbeth scribbled them all down on a separate piece of parchment paper. Double checking her work on the scattered pieces of paper, she gave a satisfied smile and nod. "Looks like I have everything here that I need to start. Do know what kind of cloth you want for the shirts?"

"Netherweave."

"Linen."

Her eyes darting between the males exchanging annoyed looks with each other, she kept her quill stationary on the parchment. "So, is it Netherweave or Linen?"

Deimos spoke up first. "Netherweave. They're my shirts."

Warren sent a glare at the elf. "Linen. It's my money."

Giving a heavy sigh, the elf regarded the older man with an exasperated look. "You want me to live in linen shirts for three months? I think my skin will rash."

"I think you'll survive."

Lisbeth, her wide blue eyes darting between the two, picked her quill up from the paper. "You could compromise with a Mageweave or Runecloth."

The two regarded the tailor with a curious look. Eyes full of arrogance, Deimos turned to the warrior. "We'll do Runecloth. Fair?"

The man diverted his attention to the confused young woman. "No. You're getting linen. End of argument."

"Seriously, Old School? I'll pay you back or something."

"With what money?"

"If you could get to my stuff at the Keep, I had 150 gold on me."

"The money's probably gone." Deimos gave an annoyed sigh. "Unless you pay me through physical labor, you're getting linen."

His eyes roaming the human's face, Deimos paused before answering. It would be a slam to his pride and ego to lower himself to labor for money. Glancing at a spool of Netherweave cloth on top of a shelf, the elf fingered the thin material of his current shirt. "Fine, but I want Netherweave then."

Smirking, Warren turned to the very confused tailor, quill at the ready on the paper. "We'll do Netherweave. Do you know how long it'll take?"

Scribbling down the choice of linen and doing some math on the sheet of parchment, the girl paused in thought. Turning around to look at the spools resting on the wooden shelf, she eyed them. "It looks like I should have enough cloth to complete the project pretty fast. I could have them done by tomorrow at noon. Would that be alright?"

Pulling a small leather pouch from his pocket, Warren glanced at the elf. "That would be fine. How much do I owe you?"

"30 gold for the five shirts." Picking up the small stack of golden coins from the counter, Lisbeth turned her attention to another piece of parchment resting next to her. "Do you know what kind of leather you want for the pants?"

The two men glared at each other, each hoping to win the battle of stares. Deimos crossed his arms arrogantly. "If your cheap ass orders light leather, I'm going to get rashes in places you don't even want to imagine."

Rolling his eyes at the dramatic elf, Warren turned to the tailor. Silently, she longed for the discussion to come easier than the cloth. "Do Knothide."

Satisfied that the leather choice didn't turn into an argument, Lisbeth jotted down the information. Quill paused on the parchment, she mentally did the calculations. Writing down some numbers, she turned to Warren. "I'm not sure how long Simmon will need. I would check with him tomorrow." Pausing, she looked at the parchment again. "For five pairs of pants, it'll be 50 gold."

Pulling out more gold from the small sack, the older man placed it on the counter. He turned his gaze at Deimos. "I hope you're used to hard labor."

* * *

Clutching a heavy leather package full of fel ore in his arms, Deimos walked behind Warren as they entered the dim and musky tavern. The wooden floorboards creaked under his feet as the elf glanced around the pub. The walls were constructed of the same brown wood, scratches on the grain showing its age. On both sides of the room were warped wooden stairs with a crooked railing running along the sides. The walls held an occasional dusty painting, the colors faded from age and lack of maintenance. While candles and lanterns bathed the room with sufficient light, Deimos wasn't accustomed to such primitive methods. He was used to the use of magic to provide light; candles and flames only being supplemental.

A long bar took up the entire far wall of the tavern with wooden kegs and taps resting behind it. Stools lined the bar, some occupied while others waited for an inhabitant. Behind the bar was an older man in his mid thirties, brown shaggy hair stopping at his shoulders. Drying a glass with a towel, the man listened to one of his customers' tales with a grin on his face. Looking around the tavern, the elf noticed that nearly all of the customers were older, around Warren's age, with some kind of weapon. While most carried a sword or mace, the paladin spotted several with twin daggers.

As the attention in the room slowly turned to the two new males, Deimos heard the playing lute and ocarina stop their music. Loud conversations dwindled into soft murmurs as eyes bore into the blood elf. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the young elf sent a look to Warren. The older man seemed to ignore the growing intensity from the stares, his eyes falling on his usual table. Giving a gesture with his head, he turned to the elf. "C'mon. My tables over here."

Shaking his head as he followed the human, Deimos kept his gaze even as he moved past the staring customers. Passing a table full of young men around his own age, the elf's advantaged hearing picked up the whisperings from one of the humans. "I heard he couldn't even take on one rogue. It's no wonder we're winning this war; Horde can't even train their paladin's right."

A muffled chuckle caused the elf to stop walking; a second human at the table began to whisper. "My brother was guarding the Stocks. Says he went mad without mana. Disgusting Belf."

His temper flaring at the use of the derogative name for his kind, Deimos spun on his heels. With lightning speed, he reached the table of surprised humans. "I'm assuming your brother was the one whose blood I smeared before I stole his sword."

"How dare you, you-"

"And if you're really going to insult my training, why don't you drop those weapons and we'll take a step outside? Five on one… you might want to call for more friends."

Each of the boys jumped from their seats at the threat. The boy who insulted his race stood the same height as Deimos, his steel gray eyes meeting the unnatural green. Flexing his hands open and closed, the human got within inches from the elf's face. "Was that an invitation, Belf?"

"That will be enough, Mr. Jonathon."

A strong hand placed itself on the elf's shoulder, pulling his attention away from the snarling face in front of him. Glancing to the left, Deimos looked at Warren's stern face. The older man had his other hand on the young human boy's shoulder.

The boy swallowed hard, eyeing Warren before taking a couple steps backwards. "Yes, Commander Steele. I apologize for my rude abruptness."

Satisfied for the apology, the older man gave a small nod at the boy. Turning his limp hand on the elf's shoulder into a grasp, he turned the still fuming paladin around. Reluctant, Deimos allowed Warren to guide his body towards the table nestled in the corner. The conversations in the room seemed to have picked back up, the music resuming its song.

Sitting down with a thud, Warren eyed the paladin. "That was Bradley Jonathon. Remember the human that gave you a shiner before your trial?" The elf nodded. "Well, that's his nephew."

Noticing a barmaid with a grin on her face and a beat in her step make her way over to them, Deimos crossed his arms over his chest. "Is there a reason their family hates me?"

Warren broke eye contact with the elf. "It's a long story. And one that I'm not at liberty to share."

The barmaid approached the table, her grin turning into a smile as her eyes fell on the warrior. "Warren, you're later than your usual time."

Smiling broadly at the woman, Warren quickly changed his demeanor to upbeat and happy. Fidgeting in his chair at the close proximity of the woman, the older man unconsciously smoothed the back of his hair. "Yeah, I had a busy day. I hope you didn't think I wasn't coming."

Eyebrows rising and a smirk on his face, Deimos regarded the man in front of him in amusement. No longer bearing the aggressive stance or impatient stare, the man's eyes softened when looking at the barmaid. Likewise, the woman's brown eyes danced with happiness when talking with the warrior. Wearing a low cut white blouse that showed her midriff, the woman had her brown hair tied tightly in a messy bun. Her long legs were covered with a green skirt, detailed with purple on the top and bottom.

Her smile deepening at the man, the woman turned her eyes to Deimos. Immediately, they dropped the giddiness to them, being replaced with nervousness. "Who's your friend?"

Brought back to reality, the warrior glanced at the young elf, taking in his entertained grin. "This is Deimos Ares'mar. He's going to be staying with me for a couple months."

Her eyes meeting his, Deimos watched her posture relax considerably. She gave him a smile that reached her eyes. "I'm Elly Langston. Any friend of Warren's is a friend of mine."

Opening his mouth to correct her, Deimos found himself cut off by Warren. "I'm going to take a glass of bourbon tonight. Been kind of a long day."

Smiling at the man, Elly turned her brown eyes at Deimos. "What would you like to drink, sweetheart?"

Glancing at the worn and aged bar, Deimos grimaced at the thought of the liquor they offered. "Do you have wine?"

Elly nodded, several strands of her brown hair outlining her face. "We have Pinot Noir."

Taking in the annoyed expression Warren was giving him, Deimos decided not to argue the matter. "That'll be fine."

Giving a last smile, Elly turned from the two males. Warren watched her leaving form, drawn to the way her hips rose and fell with each step. The skirt complimented her tall legs, the color making her eyes shine. Nearly five years younger than the warrior, he found himself transfixed in her beautiful eyes. It was no secret that the officers and soldiers from the barracks dined at the Pig and Whistle Tavern to get a look at her.

Ignoring several of her other tables, Elly swiftly returned with a goblet and small glass in each hand. Placing each drink on the table, she gave a quick smile to Warren. "Do you know what you want to eat? We've got a special tonight; lean wolf steak."

Coughing at the disgusting sound of it, Deimos mutely wondered what was so special about it. Warren sent a quick glare at the elf before addressing the barmaid. "That'll be great. We'll both have it."

Elly offered them both a smile before turning on her heels to put their orders in. Annoyed at the man, Deimos turned to send a frustrated glare. His frown cracking into a grin, the elf amusedly took in Warren's glazed over eyes; which were still trained on the space the woman once occupied. Wrapping a hand around the stem of the glass, Deimos took a sip of the weak wine, a grin still on his face.

Eyes watering at the cheap taste of the liquor, the elf placed the goblet down. He would have to have a talk with the owner of the establishment. Wine of such low caliber was unacceptable. "So, old school, what's your story?"

The question pulling him from his reverie, Deimos watched the glossiness leave the man's eyes. The brown eyes coming into focus with reality, Warren turned his head to the elf questioningly. Taking a sip of the spiced bourbon, he regarded the young elf. "My story?"

The paladin gave a small smirk. "Yeah. You're obviously not married. You live alone in a bachelor pad alone, courting a barmaid in a local tavern, and from what I gathered you're a Commander."

Warren sent a glare at the elf. "You mean I _used_ to live alone. I'm now sharing my house with a very ungrateful and cocky blood elf."

Disregarding the insults, Deimos took another sip out of the goblet, hoping the wine would magically change. "I'm serious, old man. If I'm going to be living with you, I should at least know something about you."

Eyeing the paladin's face, Warren sipped his booze. "Not really much to tell. I was a page to a warrior when I was a child, became a squire, and slowly rose through the ranks to Commander of my own battalion." He paused to spare a glance at Elly, who was leaning against the bar to talk to the bartender. "I never took a wife."

"Why not?"

Glancing back at the curious elf, Warren gave a shrug. "No time. It's hard to dedicate time to both your marriage and your military career. A family is a whole different story. You don't usually see higher ranked officers with families. And if they do have families, their position isn't a combatant one. Usually, they stick with intel or some kind of paper pusher."

Deimos mutely nodded, swirling the liquid in his glass. He futilely hoped the cheap taste would grow on his palate. However, it didn't seem likely.

"Well, that's not completely true," Warren began, his eyes roaming the elf's face, "You're father is a Commander and he has you."

Hand leaving the goblet, Deimos lifted his green eyes to meet Warren's brown ones. He gave a small smirk. "Yeah, but he doesn't have a family; just a son. It's not like he's married."

Warren drew his eyebrows together in confusion. "The information we have on you doesn't really specify much regarding your mother. Was she killed during an attack?"

Draining the rest of his goblet, Deimos figured he'd need the liquor in his system. He gave a small shrug. "Nothing like that. Died during childbirth."

"So your father raised you then?"

Eyeing the curious human, Deimos raised an eyebrow. "What is this, twenty questions?" He paused, his bored and uninterested eyes roaming the man's face as he leaned back against the chair. "My father didn't really want much to do with me for a while. At least not until I could support my weight and hold a sword. I can't blame him though, you know. He lost his wife."

"But gained a son."

Breaking the hard stare from the human, Deimos turned his attention to the empty goblet. He wished it would refill itself. "Yeah, well I guess he never really looked at it like that. My birth date shares the day of his wife's death." The elf gave a small pause. "I was mostly raised by Brightwing."

A grin going across his face, Warren eyed the elf with amusement. "That would explain your cockiness then. I fought next to Halduron Brightwing during the Second War. An honorable soldier," the man paused, nostalgia clouding his eyes, "and at the time, a good friend."

"So that's how you know Thalassian then?"

Warren gave a small nod. "After being around the language for so long, I picked it up." The man paused, hesitant to continue. "I fought next to your father too."

Deimos directed his attention back to his goblet, his fingers brushing against the tarnished silver. "Yeah? Somehow I don't see the two of you getting along."

Laughing jovially, the warrior finished his glass of bourbon in one gulp. "Some days I had to remind myself who the enemy was."

"Here we are," A voice said, approaching the table with the elf and human. In her hands, Elly held two steaming identical plates. Placing the meals on the table, she offered the two men a smile. "Everything look good?"

Eyeing the slab of meat before him disgustingly, Deimos felt his empty stomach flip. As much as he would have preferred a delicate fish, the thought of a real meal to his hungry body made his mouth water. Juiced poured out the sides of the filet, a small mound of mixed vegetables resting next to the steak. The aroma emitting from the plate wasn't to his particular liking, but it more than bread. Eyeing the steak skeptically, Deimos hoped he would eventually get accustomed to the human's idea of a respectable meal.


	7. Chapter 7

**As promised here's, chapter seven. I'm wrapping up chapter eight now, which is a good size. I was told by my editor that I need more action, so expect a little bit in the next chapter. This chapter was fun to write; it's definitely one of the more happy chapters. I introduce a couple new characters here; there's a reason for them later on. **** I'm**** thinking there's going to be atleast 11 chapters total, as I'm unable to condense some of the content into ten chapters. **

**Other than my original characters, Blizzard owns everything. **

* * *

Sipping his thick coffee, Warren scanned his eyes over the report. He had a meeting scheduled with a soldier from the Silverwing Sentinels in the afternoon, making it a necessity to familiarize himself with the report. Taking a bite out of his spiced bread, Warren figured the request for assistance from the Alliance would have to be determined with consideration. The draenei were more likely to offer aid to the night elves, their location being more convenient. If that was the case, then the warrior had no interest in sending his battalion. His company, prior to investigating the troll congregation in the Burning Steppes, had been on a six month campaign. Most likely, his soldiers were reveling in the comforts of home. Taking a quick sip of his warm breakfast drink, Warren knew he couldn't leave Stormwind City. At least not until his unexpected house guest was gone.

Eyebrows together in thought, Warren stood from his spot at the wooden table in the kitchen. Approaching the wide windows, the warrior took in the bright sun. Nearly a quarter across the sky, the morning was soon turning into noon. The bright sun gave evidence to the man that it was going to be a gorgeous, albeit hot, day in the city. The spring had quickly come to human city, offering its comfortable weather to the citizens. Breaking his stare away from the window, Warren mutely pondered how long the blood elf planned on sleeping. Surely he didn't expect to sleep the entire day.

Placing his mug of coffee on the wooden table, the man left the kitchen. If the young elf wouldn't get up on his own accord, the man would aid the process. The warped stair boards creaked in protest to the weight as the man made his way up to the second level. Knowing Deimos probably hadn't had a decent night sleep in quite some time; Warren allowed the elf to sleep through the morning. He figured the paladin would wake shortly after dawn. However, it wasn't the case. Dawn came and went, and still no movement from the spare bedroom. Several hours passed by, the older man growing tired of waiting for the slumbering boy.

Reaching the closed door from the elf's room, Warren leaned silently against it. Not hearing any movement, he knocked his knuckle against the wooden panel, waiting. Still not hearing any stirring or voice, the warrior silently turned the door knob and gave the door a small shove with his shoulder.

Pushing the door open fully, Warren took in the room. Lying on the floor in a pile were the clothes the man had lent the elf the day before. At the foot of the bed were the leather boots, placed neatly next to each other. The blue drapes were drawn open, the sun's rays illuminating the room and its inhabitant. A figure sleeping on the bed was covered in sheets and blankets, which were wrapped around the individual. Eyeing the mound of fabric, Warren was only able to see a mop of blond hair peaking out the top. The room was nearly silent, the deep breaths of the Sin'dorei alluding to its slumber.

Walking closer to the heap of blankets, Warren was rewarded with seeing a face under the blond hair. Mouth slightly open, the elf was dead to the world. Smirking, Warren brought a hand to shake Deimos' bare shoulder. Not getting any results, the warrior increased the intensity of the shake. The sleeping form shifted; sleep slowly leaving its body. Crossing his arms impatiently, Warren watched Deimos' green eyes slowly open. Tired and unfocused, the young elf confusedly looked at the man. Groaning as realization dawned on him, the paladin rolled over on his stomach, putting a pillow over his head.

"The morning's half way over," Warren began. "You can't sleep the day away."

A groan was emitted from under the pillow. "Give me another hour."

"No. I've given you several hours already. And if you think this is how you're going to spend the next three months, you're very wrong."

Messy hair and a tired face popped up from under the pillow to give the man an annoyed look. "Look old man. I haven't slept in an actual bed in weeks."

"I sympathize with you. Really."

Squinting in anger at the dry and sarcastic reply, Deimos dropped his head back onto the pillow. "Light, you're impossible to reason with."

"So I'm told," Warren paused, eyeing the reluctant elf. "Is this how you act in Silvermoon?"

Several beats passed. Not seeing or hearing any movement, Warren wondered if the boy fell back asleep. An annoyed groan was muffled from the pillow, followed by an irritated reply. "When I get back from a mission, yes."

"Lucky for us, you didn't just get back from a mission."

"No, I was just released from prison. Now give me another hour."

Sighing, the man felt his patience for the elf dwindled like the morning sun. Eyeing the unmoving boy, Warren figured he would have to take matters into his own hands. Stepping to the side of the bed, he crouched down. Working his hands under the mattress, the man gave a strong thrust, flipping the mattress and its occupant on the floor.

All thoughts of sleep leaving the elf, Deimos swiftly pushed the lying mattress off his body. Jumping to his feet, the elf regarded the man with an angry glare as he straightened out his linen night pants. "What the hell, old school."

Making his way to the door, Warren sent the elf an equally aggravated glare. "Get dressed. You're escort will be arriving at noon."

Eyeing the flipped over mattress on the floor, Deimos figured he'd have to somehow get it back on the box spring. "It's day two and you're ditching me already?"

Warren paused at the door. "I have a meeting today. Now clean this up and get dressed."

Nearly an hour and a half later, Warren sat at the wooden table with the pages of the report scattered across it. Having given up all hopes of trying to memorize it, the man distractedly thumbed through it. Sighing to himself, he wondered what was taking the elf so long. He had watched Deimos carry pales of water for a bath and heard the bathtub drain nearly an hour ago. Impatient and slightly annoyed at the paladin, the warrior stood up from the wooden table for the second time that day with the same annoyed emotions.

Moving up the stairs irritated, the warrior assumed the paladin's escort would be arriving momentarily. He had expected Deimos to be awake and prepared for the day hours ago; giving the warrior time to discuss the physical labor he needed done. Sighing, the man knew his meeting was drawing ever closer. Walking past the open bathroom door, Warren took in its vacant demeanor. That left the elf in one room. Reaching the closed door to Deimos' quarters, the older man gingerly knocked on the wood. Not receiving a reply, he pushed the door open. Eyebrows drawn together in confusion, Warren cocked his head to the side at the scene.

The mattress no longer lying on the floor upside down, the elf had made his bed. Sitting on top of the neat blanket was Deimos. Shirtless, he sat crossed legged with his hands resting limply on his knees. His eyes were closed as he took in deep and even breaths, completely disregarding his new visitor. His face was calm, expression passive and serene.

Shifting his weight awkwardly, Warren leaned against the door frame as he eyed the elf. "Hey, hotshot. Did you fall back asleep?"

His naked upper torso tensed at the voice as Deimos slowly opened his eyes. Blinking several times to clear his vision, the paladin turned an irritated glare at the warrior. "What do you want, old man?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

Uncrossing his legs, Deimos rolled his green eyes at the man's ignorance. "I'm meditating."

Brows drawn together in confusion, Warren blankly looked at the elf. "Meditating? What for?"

Pushing himself off the bed, the paladin picked up his discarded white shirt from the floor, slipping it on over his head. "Addiction. All blood elves do it."

"And this is an everyday occurrence?"

Sitting back on the bed, the elf pulled his boots on. "Yep. At least an hour each morning."

The warrior sent a skeptical look at the elf. "And you bathe everyday too?"

Eyeing the man, Deimos gave him a disgusted look. "You don't?"

Moving from the door frame, Warren began to walk into the hallway with the elf following him. Promptly ignoring the insult, the older man sent a disapproving look at the boy. "If it's going to take you three hours to prepare for the day, you'll need to get up earlier."

Deimos rolled his eyes at the man, unconsciously pulling at the tight shirt around his frame. He looked forward to getting decent fitting clothes constructed of better quality materials. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Warren turned to regard the elf. "Ok, first thing I want done is cleaning. If you think my house is so filthy, you can clean it."

Shifting his weight, Deimos eyed the mounds of dust in the corners of bookshelves and accumulating on the unused furniture. "I think torching the house and starting from scratch would be faster."

Warren turned to the stairs, ignoring the sarcastic remark. "The floor boards on the stairs need to be replaced. I want the wood treated and sanded. That also includes the railings."

Noticing the warped wood, Deimos mutely agreed with a nod. Laying the wood wouldn't be difficult, simply time consuming.

Moving to the foyer, the man pulled the wooden door open. The bright sunlight bore down on the two, both squinting as their eyes adjusted. "You were kind enough to suggest my porch needed tending. So you get to do it. Again, I want the wood treated, sanded, and stained before placing it."

Eyeing the space, Deimos fingered his earring in his left pointed ear. "I think this porch is a lost cause."

"I think you should just do what you're told."

Rolling his eyes at the man, the paladin followed him back into the quiet house. Warren silently made his way into the kitchen, pausing at the table. Littering the table top were sheets of parchment, skewed across its surface. "The table and chairs could use a sanding and staining. It might require a little bit of maintenance too."

Running his hand over the warped and decrepit piece of furniture, Deimos shook his head. "Has this thing ever been sanded? It feels like it came straight from the forest."

"I don't remember asking for your opinion."

Scowling at the comment, Deimos eyed the chairs with disdain. The project would be annoying, slightly difficult, but not impossible. He was decent with his hands, often helping his father with projects around their home in Silvermoon City. "Is that it, old man?"

"I'll leave a list of more things I expect done. Most are home improvement tasks."

A cunning thought crossing his mind, Deimos averted his eyes to scan the wooden furniture. Grinning darkly, the paladin walked slowly into the foyer, taking a look at the stairs and sitting room. _If he wants a home improvement project, he'll definitely get one_. "And how are these little projects being funded?"

"I'll give you gold to pick up materials," the older man paused in thought. "And I expect receipts for everything."

Crossing his arms at the man's glare, Deimos opened his mouth to send a smart retort. A loud and thunderous knock on the front door interrupted him, causing them both to eye the entry curiously. Stepping forward, Warren knew it was the young elf's escort. With a grin on his face, the man pulled the door open to reveal the visitor.

"Hi, Matheus," Warren said warmly, moving to allow the rogue to enter his dwellings. Deimos cocked his head to the side in interest and curiosity; wondering who he would be stuck with for the remainder of the day. Leaning slightly to the side, Deimos tried to see around the warrior's broad stature.

"Sorry I'm late. Hope I didn't mess up your plans," Matheus replied, stepping into the house.

"Don't worry. I've got a little time before my meeting."

Matheus' blue eyes moved from his commanding officer's face to focus on the figure standing behind him. Several paces away, the elf had his arms crossed over his chest, his head cocked to side. Blue eyes met unnatural green ones. Indeed, the elf was familiar to the rogue. No longer donning the plate armor he had first seen him in, the young paladin looked less menacing close up. While Matheus saw him during the trial, he was unable to see him in close quarters, like their first meeting. Grinning at the blank expression on the elf's face, the rogue moved past Warren towards him.

"Hey Kid," the man began, approaching him casually. "Not sure if you remember me or not. It was almost a week ago, not in the best of circumstances either. I've got to-"

His head whipping to the side from a strong punch, Matheus had a metallic taste in his mouth. Bringing his hand up to inspect the dripping blood, the rogue groaned in pain from the strong punch to his face. "Yeah, I think he remembers me…"

"You son of a-"

"Deimos, calm down," Warren firmly replied, placing a strong hand on the young elf's shoulder; he was prepared to stop another assault from the boy. Under his hand, the man could feel the elf's posture shaking with anger.

Lifting his head up, Matheus grinned as he worked his sore jaw. His eyes taking in the angered elf in front of him, the rogue's smile deepened. "Quite the arm you got there."

"You cheap shot me, you bastard," Deimos exclaimed through clenched teeth, the memory of the skirmish with the rogue all too fresh in his mind.

Smirking at the young elf, Matheus gave him an amused look. "Warren said you were feisty but man, this day could be fun."

Squinting in anger at the lax and laidback demeanor from the rogue, Deimos turned his glare at the warrior. "Who the hell is this?"

"This," Warren began, trying to hide the grin on his face, "is Matheus Williams. He's a rogue in my battalion; and a damned good one at that. He'll be your guard for the day."

"Kid," the rogue began, laying a hand on the paladin's broad shoulder; the gesture emitting more anger from the elf, "I think we started off on the wrong foot. You know, it could have been worse. I could have just killed you."

"Well that's consoling."

Grinning at the sarcasm in the elf's voice, Matheus offered Warren a huge smile. "I love this kid. I think we'll get on together just fine."

Eyeing the shorter human, Deimos glared at him as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I would have killed you, you know that right? You sucker punched me."

The rogue shrugged, a smile on his face. "You put your guard down."

"I didn't expect to be attacked on a roof."

"Expect the unexpected."

"If you didn't happen to notice, I was in shock from hearing my leader was going to be assassinated."

Rolling his eyes at the sarcastic and dramatic reply, Matheus grinned at the paladin. "Sorry Deemo-"

"-it's 'Deimos'."

"-but I was just doing my job. You know," the rogue pointed a thumb at Warren, "got to follow what the boss says."

Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, the elf darted his eyes between the amused face of the rogue with the warrior's passive one. "You're just as annoying in conversation as you are on the battlefield."

"It's the curse of a rogue, I guess." Matheus paused, taking in the elf's demeanor. He was significantly less furious than when he first recognized the rogue, his shoulders no longer shuddering with anger. His eyes, though they still held contempt, carried a sort of mirth to them. "So, what do you say, Kid? Truce?"

The elf regarded the human skeptically, eyes roaming the questioning face. Without the leather armor pieces adorning his build, Matheus had a significantly smaller frame than Deimos. Though his muscles were toned from years of training, the rogue lacked the thick and broad structure the paladin developed. His unnatural green eyes resting on the twin daggers that rested on the rogue's waist, Deimos silently cursed the objects for placing him in his current predicament. Giving a small sigh, the Sin'dorei raised his eyes to meet the inquiring blues ones. "Fine." The elf gave a small pause. "But the fight still wasn't fair."

Giving a laugh, Matheus clasped a hand on the elf's shoulder. "We'll agree to disagree then."

Grinning at the comment, Deimos rolled his eyes. The rogue, however annoying he may have been, was a breath of fresh air to the young elf. His eyes held amusement and jollity, his sly smile holding a hidden meaning. Unlike majority of the humans Deimos had run into, the rogue's eyes held no ill-feelings towards the elf. The blue orbs swirled with laughter, though the lines on his face told novels of the battles the man had seen. Indeed, the paladin felt himself relaxing at his presence.

"Here," Warren began, pulling a small, worn leather pouch from his pocket. Outstretching his hand, the warrior offered it to Deimos. "There's fifty gold. That should buy you some materials and last till the end of the week for food. I'll give you some gold at the beginning of every week. Like I said, I want receipts."

A flush creeping to his cheeks, the elf grabbed the money pouch from Warren, rolling his eyes at the man. "_Isheredu, Ann'da_." **(As you wish, dad).**

Sparing a glance at the confused rogue, Warren sent a hardened look at the young elf. "_Anar'alah, anaria Common._" **(By the light, speak Common).**

Though the comment back to him was short, the Thalassian words seemed to put Deimos at ease. Unable to hold back the grin spreading on his face, the words were music to his pointed ears. Though the man and elf exchanged angry words in his native tongue the day before, hearing the familiar language soothed him. While he was fluent and more than proficient in Common, the tongue was still foreign. Warren, taking quick notice in the change in manner from the elf, allowed his firm gaze on the boy to soften ever so slightly. Though the language of the blood elves wasn't difficult for him to speak, the man preferred the speaking of Common; especially in front of those who didn't understand the Sin'dorei tongue. However, the man mused, perhaps allowing limited use of the language would be tolerable.

"I have to get going," Warren began, walking in the kitchen to gather the scattered parchments on the table in a somewhat organized stack. "I don't want to be late."

Watching as the warrior stuffed the pile of papers under an arm, Matheus followed him towards the foyer door, Deimos at his heels. "This is the meeting with the Silverwing Sentinels?"

"Yeah," the man strapped the sword in its sheathe to his waist, giving it a couple of testing jerks to ensure its stability. "I'm hoping that I can wrap up the conference fast."

"You think we'll be sent to Ashenvale?"

His brown eyes darting to Deimos' curious face, Warren gave a sigh as he redirected his attention to the rogue. "I'm not sure. It all depends on what other companies have been sent for reinforcements. If I don't have to send the battalion, I won't. Especially with having babysitting duty for the next three months."

Glaring as Warren pulled the front door open, Deimos crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "Hey, any time you want to 'accidently' leave me in the harbor, I'll be more than happy to remedy that problem."

Smirking at the annoyed elf, the older man gave the rogue a firm look. "Keep an eye on him. I'm not sure when I'll be back from the meeting but if he gives you too much trouble, send word to me at the Keep. I'll deal with him myself then. "

Deimos gave an annoyed sigh. "I'm standing right here, you know."

Grinning at the elf, Matheus motioned to the paladin to follow Warren out of the house. "I don't think we'll have a problem. Just going to show him around the city. You know, see the sights."

Eyeing the rogue skeptically, Warren gave a small nod. "Sure. Just… watch him."

"Will do."

The trio walked through the cobbled streets of Old Town, the unforgiving sun boring down on them. The sounds of swords clashing in the distance gave evidence to the barracks and Command Center's close proximity. The streets were nearly empty, an occasional wanderer passing them. When their eyes would land on the blood elf, they would quickly avert their gazes to the street nervously. Deimos seemed to revel in his new found power, his head rising higher and shoulders pushed back.

Glancing around himself, Matheus mutely wondered why his commanding officer chose to reside in what was considered the slums of Stormwind City. The military pension the man received was more than adequate to support his meager lifestyle in a more hospitable neighborhood. The rogue, having moved out from the barracks several years back, shared a small apartment in the Trade District with friends. Considered the hustle and bustle of the city, Matheus preferred the setting more than his childhood home in Cathedral Square.

Pausing at the end of the tunnel that brought the group to the canals, Warren turned to Deimos with a pointed finger. "Behave. And I expect some supplies bought today so you can start on the projects soon."

Smirking at the man's slightly worried expression, Deimos rolled his green eyes. "Whatever, old school."

Nodding at the departure, the group split up; Warren going to the right towards the Keep and the other two taking a left. The two men walked in silence for several beats, Deimos' eyes scanning the city. The citizens of the city moved with precise and determined actions, living their routine day. The young elf turned a questioning look at the rogue. "What sights does this city have? I've already seen the Stocks and Keep."

The rogue smirked at the elf. "First we have to pick up your clothes. Then, I'll show you the sights. And these sights are… a little better than landmarks."

Eyeing the rogue's mysterious grin, Deimos silently wondered where he was headed. The man was peculiar, his actions and words odd to the elf. His fighting style against the paladin was vastly different from his casual demeanor. His laid back personality didn't allude to the mastery he possessed as a rogue; or the deadly accuracy he was with his sharp daggers. Had the elf not seen his assailant's face, he wouldn't think the human in front of him was the same that shamefully bested him.

* * *

"Hurry it up, kid. Our first 'place of interest' is just around the corner."

Smirking at the voice that carried itself through the thin wooden door, Deimos eyed himself in the dirty mirror. After picking up the shirts from the tailor and pants from the leather worker, Matheus had suggested that they stop at his apartment to allow Deimos to change. Thankful to discard the small linen shirt, the young Sin'dorei was taken aback by the state the dwelling was in. Trying not to touch the grim covered fixtures or basin, Deimos couldn't fathom how a group of humans managed to live in such a disgusting state. Clothes and half filled bottles of booze littered the small apartment floor, the bathroom following suit as well. Dirty clothes were piled in the corners, a dark ring around the bathtub giving evidence to its lack of cleaning.

Eyeing the loose red shirt, Deimos was still thankful that the rogue had allowed him to change into his new clothes. Turning the brass door knob, the young elf was greeted to the sight of the older man leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His blue eyes roaming in the paladin, Matheus gave a small smirk. "Looking good kid. I mean, for a blood elf that is."

Rolling his eyes at the comment, Deimos tightened the small golden hoop hanging from his left ear. "Thanks. I think."

His grin widening, the two walked down the narrow and messy hallway towards the front of the apartment. The walls were riddled with dirt, making Deimos wonder what caused such a stain. "I like the earring. Would get one myself but the Commander doesn't allow them. Says if he sees it, he's yanking it."

Entering what Deimos assumed to be the kitchen and dining quarters, the state of the flat only worsened. The basin was overfilled with dirty dishes, a vulgar smell emitting from it. An undersized trash bin was overflowing with garbage with smalls piles surrounding it. The countertops were covered in ale and shot glasses; empty bottles lying on their sides. Trying to hide the sickening look on his face, the paladin turned to Matheus. "I'd like to see the old man try to grab it."

Laughing at the comment, the human eyed a bottle on the counter top. Wafting the opening, Matheus shook the contents. Satisfied, the rogue tossed his head back as he downed what was left in the liquor bottle. Averting his eyes, Deimos silently wondered how the man had managed to live this long. "Warren's not that bad of a guy. Probably one of the better commander's here in Stormwind."

"Try living with him."

Lifting an eyebrow, the rogue gave the paladin an amused look. "He's been my commanding officer for ten years. I've had my fair share."

Opening the front door, the two made their way down the hall of the apartment building. Three other apartments shared the floor, each crammed into the space. The rug running down the center of the hall was stained beyond recognition; with what, Deimos could only imagine. The walls, which were once a painted cream color, were covered in black and brown dirt. Unpainted plaster occasionally marred spots on the walls, the quick fix to holes. Walking down the old wooden steps, the young elf gave Matheus an entertained look. "You chose this over the barracks?"

The human laughed at the question, his feet reaching the first level. "It's my little piece of paradise. You're young; you still live in the barracks back in Silvermoon?"

"No, I live with my father. He's my commanding officer so I never got to live in the barracks."

Grinning at the elf, the rogue turned the rusted knob on the front door to exit the apartment building. "Some would say you lucked out. I loved the barracks, though. Sometimes I kind of miss it."

Shaking his head at the rogue, Deimos squinted his eyes as the unforgiving sun bore down on him. Slightly after noon, the hot sun offered its rays to the citizens of the city. Deimos, growing up in the northern part of the continent, wasn't acclimated to the intense sunlight. His fair skin seemed to glow when the rays hit him, making him stand out even more. Glancing around himself, the young elf grinned at the hustling environment the neighborhood offered.

Rather, it wasn't a neighborhood. Matheus' apartment was nestled in the heart of the Trade District. Vendors and merchants moved around the area, some pushing carts full of commodities while others carried handfuls of goods. The yelling from the auctioneers mixed with frantic pleas could be heard from the Auction House. Citizens of all classes bustled around the crowded streets, some pushing others in a panic to get to their destination. Aristocrat women carried arms full of parcels and packages, while lower class citizens pulled reluctant children by the hands. The humans scurrying about amused the young Sin'dorei, his eyes dancing with interest as he took in the spectacle. The flurry of activity the district offered seemed to pull the attention away from the elf.

"C'mon," Matheus said, pointing to a building in the distance, "We're headed this way."

Tearing his gaze away from the busying streets, Deimos followed the rogue as he joined the throng of humans. Slightly relieved, the elf found himself mixing with the crowds. Several humans threw him angry glares, while others simply disregarded the paladin. Pushing and shoving through the horde of people, Deimos kept a keen eye on Matheus. The last thing he needed was to get lost in the busiest part of Stormwind. Passing by a soldier standing on watch, the elf noticed his posture tense as their eyes met. Gripping the hilt of his sword, the guard kept trained eyes on the elf until he passed by.

Stopping in front of a large building, Deimos gazed at the structure in front of him. With a blue shingled roof and lit windows, it had an inviting feeling to it. A wooden sign hung from the second floor reading _The Gilded Rose_. Turning to the grinning rogue, Deimos gave him a skeptical look. "What's so unique about this place?"

The rogue smirked at the question. "Oh, there's nothing special about the _place_. This is just an inn. But the sight is the inn_keeper_."

Cocking his head in curiosity, the young elf couldn't help but feel the grin spread across his face as he followed behind the rogue. The day with the human was getting all the more interesting.

Walking through the open door way to the inn, the elf immediately welcomed the aroma of baking cinnamon rolls and tea. Glancing around, he was surprised with the upkeep the innkeeper had taken. An ornate rug covered the hardwood floor, its intricate design well cleaned. Plus couches and armchairs sat in a circle to the right, slightly in front of a lit fireplace. Stained oak shelves lined a wall, thick worn books crammed inside. On the left side of the room was a chestnut front desk, a black leather guestbook and silver bell resting on the top. Standing behind the counter was a young woman with short brown hair. She had a plain white shirt and tight blue skirt that seemed to show her womanly curves. Her eyes lifting at the sound of new guests, the innkeepers eyes lit up with excitement.

"Matheus!" She exclaimed, moving from behind the desk to approach the rogue. "I was wondering what was taking you so long to see me. I heard you got back a week ago."

Grinning ear to ear, Matheus felt his heart melt at her seductive voice. Watching as the woman walked towards the pair of men, the rogue was transfixed as her hips swayed side to side voluptuously. "Allison, how's my favorite girl in all of Stormwind?"

His eyebrows rising in surprise, Deimos eyed Matheus and the human woman; an amused grin on his face. Allison, a blush creeping into her high cheek bones, gave a sheepish smile to the rogue as she fidgeted. "How was the campaign? You were gone for an awfully long time."

"And I thought of you every day I was gone."

Rolling his eyes at the cheap line, Deimos found human courtship foreign, and yet entertaining. Men acted shameless and seemed to lose all concepts of self-reserve. Not being particularly experienced when it came to woman himself, the young elf shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. The paladin averted his eyes to the floor as Matheus suavely kissed the innkeepers hand, the blush already adorning her face turning more scarlet.

"So, what do you say I take you to dinner tomorrow night?"

A smile spread across her fair features. "I would very much like that."

Giving a small sigh, Deimos crossed his arms over his chest impatiently. The human rogue had drastically changed from laidback and lenient behavior to a smooth-talking and womanizing man in under a minute. Shaking his head at the thought, the paladin figured it was the product from years of training and experience.

"I'll swing by tomorrow at seven, sound good?" The rogue paused, quickly glancing behind himself at the amused elf standing several paces away. "I'm doing Commander Steele a little favor today so, as much as I'd love to catch up with you, I can't. You know, duty calls."

Nodding, her eyes still glowing in lust and hunger, Allison kept her gaze locked with Matheus. "I understand." Leaning forward, she brushed her ruby-red lips against his. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

The uncomfortable sensation in his stomach increasing tenfold, Deimos cleared his throat as the two exchanged a brief kiss. "I wonder how many more 'sights' we have left to see."

Sending the paladin a quick glare, Matheus gave a smile to the innkeeper. "Bye, Allison."

Watching as the woman gave a dreamy wave to the rogue, the young Sin'dorei was grabbed by the shoulder and spun around to the front door. Matheus dragged the still grinning paladin out of the inn, not releasing his shoulder until he was satisfied with the distance they made from the inn. Giving a small sigh and running his hand along the nape of his neck, the rogue regarded the elf with a smirk. "And that was just the first of many."

Lifting a delicate eyebrow at the man, Deimos crossed his arms. "You have multiple women?"

The rogue threw his head back in laughter, clasping the elf on the shoulder. "Of course, kid. It's the only way to really live." He paused, taking in the skeptical look on the elf's features. "Don't tell me you're married already."

Shaking his head vigorously at the question, the rogue's grin deepened as the two continued their way through the mob of merchants and traders. "You have been with a woman before, right kid?"

Feeling his cheeks burn, Deimos sent his eyes to the cobblestoned street. A panicked merchant, arms full of blacksmithing products, nearly ran straight into the duo in his hurry. Easily sidestepping the oncoming assault, the young elf refused to meet the intense stare boring into him. The rogue gave a small laugh. "No kidding? You've never lain with a sexy blood elf back home?"

The flush on his fair skin deepening in color, the paladin turned irritated eyes to the rogue. "I don't exactly run around trying to find women to sleep with. Apparently, though, human men do."

"Hey now, there's no need to get testy. It's fine that you're virgin."

Sighing to himself, the young elf silently wondered how they wandered on the subject of his love life; or lack thereof. "Don't be so condescending." The elf paused, his cheeks starting to loose the redness in them. "In my culture, I'm not exactly considered an adult either. I'm only twenty years old; adulthood for a blood elf is around 100."

Brows up in surprise, Matheus regarded Deimos with a curious and interested look. "Wow, long lives. So, what are you considered then?"

Turning down a tunnel towards the canals, the young elf shrugged at the human as they passed a group of school children meerily giggling, a worn teacher scolding them. "Kind of like an adolescent. I'm not an elfling anymore but still not looked at as an adult."

Smiling at the paladin, Matheus gave a chuckle. "Then you've got many more years ahead of you to get a nice list of girls."

The paladin grinned awkwardly, taking in the amused look on the rogue's face. "So is that what we're doing today? Talking to all of your… err… mistresses?"

"I like to think of them as girlfriends."

"Do they know about each other?"

Giving the elf an incredulous look, the rogue shook his head. "Of course not. And I haven't been with a woman in six months. So I'm pretty much entitled to a couple nights worth."

Shaking his head at the odd and twisted logic Matheus had, Deimos couldn't hold back the grin that threatened to spill across his face. The rogue was strikingly different from the young Sin'dorei's nature, his thorough fighting style being the only similarity. However much they contrasted, though, the elf found the odd personality amusing and fun. Not acquainted with a blood elf with a similar attitude, the rogue was completely unique to the elf.

* * *

"Alright, so that was Allison, Betsy, Julie, Camielle, Sharon, and Petunia."

Smirking as the man counted on his fingers, Deimos followed along the side of the rogue. The two were making their way through Old Town, the sun giving evidence to the ending day. The day was spent with the young Sin'dorei watching the rogue smooth talk and flirt with his 'girlfriends', setting up dates each day of the week. The ritual being foreign to him, Deimos found the interactions to be entertaining. Incredibly, the paladin found himself rather enjoying the rogue's company. In between the rogue's visits to his girlfriends, the elf had made stops at various merchants; purchasing supplies for his home improvement projects on Warren's house.

"Was that all of them?" Deimos asked with mirth at the man.

The rogue gave a sigh. "Well, there's Sandra but I better give her time to cool down. She found me and Camielle together months back," Matheus physically flinched at the memory. "That wasn't a good night."

Smiling at the man, Deimos glanced around himself. The sounds of men yelling and weapons clashing reached the elf's pointed ears as the two approached a stoned fortress. There were three entrances, one straight forward, leaving the other two on the left and right. Soldiers lined the front of the entrances, their expressions blank and hands gripping their swords. The fortress was large and daunting with groups of young men, and several women, donning armor moving about. Each had some sort of weapon either in hand or strapped to their hips. Hunters had their pets walking dutifully at their heels, waiting for a command from their master. Brows up in curiosity and interest, the paladin regarded the rogue with a questioning look. "Where are we?"

"Barracks, Command Center, and SI:7," Matheus paused hesitantly as he side glanced the young elf. "I have a quick meeting in SI:7, and you obviously can't come with."

As a scowl spread across his face at the rogue, Deimos let his words drip with disdain. "Yeah, obviously."

Smirking at the sarcastism in the elf's voice, the rogue pulled him through a stoned doorway. Entering what Deimos assumed was a training ground, practice dummies lined each wall; years of abuse evident on each of them. Racks of training weapons with blunt edges hung on the walls. Turning to regard the elf with an uneasy look, Matheus gave a sigh. "Just hang out here while I'm gone. They say you're not allowed to hold weapons but I wouldn't consider practice swords dangerous. And if you're-"

"-killed."

The rogue gave him a firm look. "_Told_ to not use them, then just watch others train."

Crossing his arms over his chest, the paladin rolled his eyes. "Sounds thrilling."

The rogue grinned at the boy as he clasped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. I doubt this should take very long. After this, we'll grab some food and booze. Sound like a plan?"

Deimos broke their eye contact, his gaze roaming the various swords resting on the racks. "Sure."

Giving one last grin, the rogue jogged further into the structure, where Deimos wasn't allowed in. His unnatural green eyes resting on the two guards that stood on post at the doorway, the elf gave a small sigh. While the prospect of training against the practice dummies sounded entertaining, the idea of getting a sword through his chest didn't. However, he figured that the man was right; practice swords weren't even sharp enough to damage the dummies. They were hardly considered a perilous weapon. Moving to one of the racks that held swords, Deimos figured he'd give it a try.

Hearing a shout behind him, Deimos turned just in time to see a red ball of fire swiftly making its way towards his body. Throwing himself to the stoned floor with a grunt, the young elf felt his forearms scrape against the stone with pain. Wincing at the stinging graze, Deimos laid on his stomach for several beats.

"Oh my… are you ok?" A small girlish voice yelled over to him in a panic. Grimacing, Deimos pushed himself up to a standing position as he eyed the bloodied scrapes on his arms. Concentrating his focus on the scrapes, the young Sin'dorei quickly murmured the chant to Holy Light. As the enchanted words left his mouth, the cuts began to mend themselves back together. Satisfied that the stinging sensation was gone, Deimos gave a small smile.

"I'm so glad you didn't get hurt! I'm so sorry. I really thought my aim was improving but I guess not. It's always pyroblast that I have a problem with."

Whipping his head around in confusion, Deimos swept his green eyes around the empty training area. His confusion increased as he completed a turn, his eyes not finding the source of the voice. A tugging on his shirt caused his head to turn directly down. Standing lower than his hip was a female gnome. Her bright pink hair tied away from her face in a ponytail, the girl had shining blue eyes. Her white and purple robes reached the ground, a sturdy staff strapped to her back.

Eyebrows together at the sight, Deimos found gnomes to be a strange race. Shorter than half the height of his own race, the gnomes were fierce warriors on the battlefield. Making up for their loss in height with the use of acrobats and impressive martial arts, fighting face to face with the race was trying. The girl in front of him gave him a wide smile that reached her big eyes. "Boy, you're tall. I'm going to get a neck ache just talking to you. I'm Lena. You must be Deimos."

Taking a step back from the cheery mage, Deimos gave an unsure nod. "Are you working on your accuracy or trying to kill me?"

The blood drained from her face, taking the happy smile with it. Putting a hand up to her mouth, she gave a frantic shake of her head. "Oh no! I was trying to perfect my newest ranged assault. Though," she paused, ringing her hands nervously, "I'm not the most seasoned fire mage so it's taking quite a bit of practice."

"I see," the elf answered, still giving the mage a weary look. The overly happy gnome was strange and, to the elf, rather unnerving. The two races weren't drastically different though; both had their homelands ripped in two, their people dealing with a devastating attack. The difference lye in the approach the two races took when accepting their fates. The blood elves, after changing their names to honor those that were slaughtered, became distant and cold to the outside world. The gnomes, on the other hand, immediately looked to the positive light; never allowing their horrific history to squander their bright attitudes. What the gnomes lacked in physical appearance they made up for in heightened confidence.

"I deeply apologize if I interrupted your sparring," Lena said, a grin going across her face.

Shaking his head at the odd and optimistic behavior from the small form in front of him, Deimos eyed her skeptically. "You know what I am, right?"

Cocking her head to the side, the gnome regarded him with questioning look. "You're a paladin, correct?"

"That's not what I meant. I mean, you know I'm part of the Horde?"

The mage didn't even blink at the question, her grin never faltering. "Why yes, I believe the Sin'dorei are aligned with the faction."

Squinting at the lack of reaction from the girl, Deimos shook his head. _Gnomes are even more insane than humans_. "And…I guess…you're alright with that? That I'm about to practice?"

Lena blinked at the question. "Well, you are in the training grounds. It would be silly to not train here." She gave a big smile. "You are a peculiar one."

Eyeing the smiling mage with doubt, the young elf gave a small sigh. "Are you always so happy?"

The small girl gave a shrug, the staff on her back shifting from the movement. "Are you always so pessimistic?"

Giving a small shake of his head, the paladin rested his eyes on a dummy nestled in the corner of the practice grounds. The left side slightly charred, one of the arms still had a small flame ignited. Tilting his head towards the dummy, the elf gave the mage a look. "Was that you're target?"

Whipping her head around to glance at the direction he indicated, the mage gave a sheepish grin. "It was my intended mark. Like I previously said, I'm not the most… proficient mage."

Eyeing the small form in front of him, he could feel the shame emitting from the gnome. A large sigh escaping through his lips, the paladin shifted from one foot to the other. "Everyone has to start somewhere, I guess."

Her large blue eyes meeting his green ones, she gave him a grin. "For most people, I think the learning curve is faster. I've been struggling for quite a while."

Glancing around himself, Deimos silently wished a distraction would present itself. The idea of an Alliance mage spilling her heart out to him sounded less than pleasing. Scratching his forehead, the paladin gave another small sigh. "If you're struggling, your trainer should suggest a different class for you."

"Oh, they have! I just don't… my sister was a great mage so I thought perhaps I could pick up the class with equal talent."

"Lena, I apologize for my belated appearance. It seems that-"

Turning his head towards the new voice, Deimos clenched his jaw in anger at seeing the person. Standing towards the stone doorway to the training grounds was a tall woman, her purple and teal robes reaching the ground. His unnatural green eyes meeting her glowing blue ones, Deimos took in her pointed ears, fair complexion, and slim body. The woman seemed to have a similar reaction to the paladin, her hands balling into fists at the sight of him. The high elf allowed her eyes to scan his body, the air around them tensing with each beat. Unable to tear her gaze away from the blood elf, the woman gave him a disgusted look.

"Come, Lena. Let us see what progress you made back at the mage tower," the woman directed the question at the bemused gnome, her eyes staying trained on the Sin'dorei. The turmoil history between the high and blood elves was no secret; they were both the same at one point until majority of the high elves changed their name and joined the Horde after the slaughter of their people. However, a small group of high elves clung to hope for their race; remaining aligned with the Alliance. Never giving into their mana addiction, the high elves didn't share the unnatural green eyes the Sin'dorei developed.

"Yes, Elsharin," Lena replied, moving to the mage trainer standing in the doorway. The small gnome spared the paladin an innocent smile. "I nearly killed Deimos with an ill-aimed pyroblast."

Her eyes hardening in anger at the boy, Elsharin gave a dark smirk. "Maybe I was wrong about your aim. Perhaps it _is_ improving."

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Deimos took a step towards the pale haired mage trainer. "Take yourself off your pedestal, Quel'dorei."

Her eyes narrowing in on his, the woman gritted her teeth. "Still sucking the blood out of demons, Sin'dorei?"

"Are you enjoying hiding behind these humans, still thinking the race will return to what it once was?"

Watching her posture tense, Deimos gave a small smirk. Snarling at the paladin, the mage trainer briefly considered sending arcane missiles into his chest. "We hide behind no one, belf."

Stopping nearly half a foot away from her face, Deimos felt his blood rage from the insult. The high elf was several inches shorter than him, causing his head to have to tilt down to continue the eye contact with her. Not moving from her spot, Elsharin smirked darkly at the reaction from the paladin. She returned the angry gaze with equal intensity, her blue eyes holding the livid glare with his unnatural green.

The blood elf narrowed his eyes as he addressed her in an angered whisper. "You abandoned your race."

"Perhaps you should get the whole story before making accusations."

Eyes holding a silent battle of wills, Deimos took a step back from the mage. Noticing the high elf's eyes break contact with him to glance at something behind the paladin, Deimos reluctantly turned around. An out of breath Matheus, grin spreading on his face, jogged towards the paladin. "See kid, what did I tell you? Wrapped that up in no time. Now, there's a bottle of booze with my-"

Stopping midsentence, the rogue took in Deimos' clouded face. Darting his eyes towards the doorway, the rogue gave a small whistle at the mage trainer standing with her hands on her hips. "Why hello, Elsharin. Lovely evening. Taking a fancy with Deimos here?"

Pursing her lips in anger at the outspoken rogue, the mage sent him a disapproving look. "Save it Williams. I don't think Commander Steele would be particularly happy to see that the blood elf was left unsupervised while you attended to other business."

"He wasn't unsupervised. You were here with him."

Watching as the high elf gritted her teeth in resentment, Deimos gave a small smirk. The gnome, standing to the side of the Quel'dorei, gave a small smile at the two men before turning her attention to her trainer. "The sun is almost set. Shouldn't we be heading back to the Mage Quarter now?"

Sending the paladin one last disgusted look, Elsharin nodded at Lena, her face passive. "Yes, we should." Turning to leave with the small gnome, the high elf paused in her exit as she turned to give Deimos one last glance over. "Thanks for giving my pupil target practice, blood elf."

Putting on a cocky grin, the paladin shifted his weight on his feet. "Anytime, sweetheart."

Scowling at the response, the woman walked through the doorway, her proud stance and head never faltering. Both the human and elf said nothing as they watched the retreating forms disappear from sight. The air seemed to lighten considerably, Deimos allowing his posture to return to a calm and relaxed state. A loud laugh broke the silent room, pulling the young elf's attention towards the rogue.

"Women, right kid? Don't want to live with them, but can't survive without them."

Swallowing hard, Deimos felt a grin threatening to stretch across his once annoyed features. "That's one I could survive without."

Motioning to the elf to follow him through the doorway out of the structure, the rogue lifted an eyebrow at him. "C'mon, this calls for some booze."

* * *

"So, how do you expect to get drunk off that water?" Matheus motioned to the half filled goblet resting in front of the paladin before tossing his head back to gulp his glass full of mead.

"It's not water; it's called wine."

Laughing at the response, the rogue scanned his eyes around the room. Making eye contact with the barmaid, the man gave a gesture with his hand. "Wine isn't alcohol; it's juice. If you're drinking with me, you're drinking real liquor."

Rolling his eyes at the rogue, Deimos glanced around the room. The man had insisted they go to a certain bar, the Blue Recluse, located in the Mage Quarter. In better shape than the tavern the young elf went to with Warren the night before, the crowd was strikingly different. Instead of battle-worn soldiers and officers half drunk on bar stools, large tables sat arcane students and attractive women. The crowd was significantly younger than the other tavern, the upkeep drastically cleaner. Upon entering the tavern, Deimos found himself the center of attention. After an hour of sitting in the establishment, the other customers seemed to ignore his presence and return to their own conversations.

The barmaid, her hands full of empty glasses, stopped by their table. Giving a polite smile, she gave a questioning look at Matheus. "What can I get for you?"

Eyeing the paladin's stiff posture, the rogue emitted a small laugh. "We'll take a jug of bourbon."

Eyes widening at the request, the young elf watched the barmaid turn sharply on her heels to retrieve their order. Turning his annoyed glance at the grinning man, Deimos tilted his head in disapproval. "We're not going to drink all of that."

Grinning at the look on the elf's face, Matheus shook his head. "Oh, we're just started, kid."

* * *

"You know… I like you," the rogue paused, his unfocused eyes trying to center on the young elf's face. "I was… wasn't… trying to kill you in the Burning Steppes."

Sitting on the other side of the table, empty mead and shot glasses surrounding him, was Deimos. The paladin's posture was calm and carefree. Tossing his head back in a drunken laugh, the paladin regarded the rogue with amused eyes. "M-maybe so. But… the funny thing is… I… can we get more of these?"

Drunkenly laughing as the elf shook an empty shot glass, the rogue nodded; making his vision blur all the worse. "Psh… we can… can… get whatever we want."

Dropping the glass to the wooden table with a loud crash, the elf grinned even more. "Wonder if Old School's waitin' up for…me."

Grinning at the elf's slurred words, the rogue gave a gesture to the barmaid at the counter. With a smirk on her face, she seemed to interpret his request for another round. "You drink… drink… often in… Silvermoon?"

Closing his eyes briefly as if to will the spinning room to stop, Deimos smirked at Matheus. "Ne-ver. My father… he'd kill me."

"Pshhhh…. You… you are… old enough. Maybe you just need to… to… to…get him some booze too."

Shaking his head, Deimos realized his mistake. Running his hand through his spiky blond hair, the elf wished the world would right itself. "He doesn't… drink. Esp…especially not this kind of stuff."

Four shot glasses full of brown liquid were placed on the wooden tabletop in front of the two drunken men. Squinting at the round in front of him, Matheus picked one up with a shaky hand. Lifting an eyebrow as the paladin followed suit, the rogue gave a toothy grin. "Bottoms up."

Closing his eyes, the elf threw his head back as he emptied the strong alcohol in his mouth. Swallowing the burning liquid, he was quick to follow up with the second one. Slamming the shot glass back on the table, Deimos opened his eyes. Feeling a presence hovering over him, the young elf turned unfocused eyes to the side of the table. His face turning into an amused and arrogant grin, Deimos stared into glowing blue eyes.

"Williams, I think when Steele said to watch him, he didn't have this in mind," Elsharin eyed the intoxicated blood elf, her angry scowl seeming to deepen at his cocky attitude.

"Hey," Matheus began, struggling to stand up to address the mage trainer. "You… you do your… whatever it is you do… and I'll do my thing."

Lifting an unamused brow at the man, the high elf took a step back as Deimos also attempted to rise to his feet. Hands gripping the wooden table, the young elf shut his eyes as the world began to tilt on an axis. Eyeing the wobbly elf, Elsharin set her jaw in anger at the two. "Bring him back to Commander Steele's residence, immediately."

"You know…" the paladin began, his eyes slowly opening to meet hers. Feeling confident in his ability to support his weight, the Sin'dorei rose to his full height. "You… you're not any better… than me."

Crossing her arms at the drunken paladin, Elsharin regarded him with a bored look. "And why's that?"

Willing himself to focus on her eyes, the elf took a step towards her. "Because… as much... as much as you'd hate to admit it… we're the same."

Her brows rising in slight amusement, the mage uncrossed her arms as the paladin moved towards her. "We're not the same, blood elf."

"I… I think…" his sentence lingered off to nothing, similar to his line of thought. Keeping his unfocused gaze on the woman's calm face, he closed the gap between them.

Taking a steady foot back, Elsharin found her back up against a table. Her eyes igniting in annoyance and irritation, the high elf felt the warmth from the paladin's body as he brushed up against her. Placing a hand against his broad shoulder to keep a slight distance between the two, she looked up into his face. "You're intoxicated, so I won't arcane blast you for this intrudence on my personal space."

Leaning his head ever so slightly towards her delicately pointed ear, Deimos whispered to her. "For a… high elf… you look… amazing."

His hot breath tickling her neck, Elsharin fought the urge to lean in closer to his touch. Quickly chastising herself for even thinking of such an absurd action, the mage kept one hand at her side, prepared to conjure a fireball if need be. Removing her other hand from his shoulder, the high elf pressed it against his strong chest to allow more space between the two. About to give a small push on the intoxicated elf, Elsharin was surprised to feel a strong hand envelope hers. Moving her eyes up to meet his unnatural green ones, she was quickly reminded of who she was looking at. _A blood elf_. Her eyes roamed his face, taking in his unfocused eyes.

Shifting to place his free hand on the edge of the table behind her, Deimos leaned in closer to her face. Widening her eyes in surprise at the action, the high elf couldn't seem to bring herself to concentrate on the attack to form a fireball or create a burst of arcane magic. His strong body was close to hers, making her skin crawl in a mixture of disgust and, much to her dismay, excitement. "What-what are you doing?"

Feeling her body tremble beneath him, Deimos moved to looked in her eyes. Satisfied at seeing a jumble of anger, confusion, and lust in her swirling blue orbs, he gave a small chuckle. "Nothing… at all."

Abruptly, he removed his hand from hers and took several unsteady paces backwards, a cocky grin plastered on his face. Matheus, standing to the side of the table, grinned as he shook his head.

Reality returning to her, Elsharin felt her cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment. The drunken paladin had humiliated her. Feeling her eyes beginning to tingle with a foreign sensation, she turned her wrath at the swaying rogue. "Get him back to Commander Steele's house, now."

Giving the angered mage a mock salute, the rogue gave a small laugh. "Yes… ma'am. C'mon, kid…Let's go before she… really looses it."

As the young Sin'dorei stumbled his way through the tavern to follow the older man, Elsharin forced herself to hold her composure. Her eyes trained on the back of his head, she directed as much of her anger to him as she could muster. Much to her surprise, the blood elf paused at the door way to the tavern to give an unsteady turn towards her. Smirking at the mages' angry and humbled stance, Deimos gave her an arrogant grin before leaving the building.

Turning her head to the side, Elsharin silently brushed a shameful tear away from her pale cheek. She wasn't sure who she blamed more: herself for allowing the Sin'dorei to humiliate her, or the paladin himself.

* * *

**Please review!**

**A/N: There is no love story between Deimos and Elsharin.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Here's chapter eight. It's a lot... sadder than the last chapter. Chapter nine is finished and ready to be published on Friday -- it's **so **much darker than the other content. Also, I finished chapter ten last night though it's going through a major editting overhaul. The tenth chapter is a crucial point to the story so I want to make sure it's perfect. Sadly, the end is coming soon; the eleventh chapter is going to be it. I'm hoping to start on that this weekend. **

**My editor was kind enough to tell me I'm lacking much needed action *rolls eyes*. Though the action has kind of taken the backburner, I can assure you there's quite a bit coming up. **

**As always, Blizzards owns everything, save my original characters. **

**Enjoy! And please review! **

* * *

Feeling rough scraping against his cheek, Deimos shifted his head as wakefulness slowly crept into his body. A low groan leaving his shut lips, the blood elf couldn't bring himself to open his eyes as he contemplated allowing unconsciousness to overcome him again. His mind still foggy from sleep, the paladin struggled to form a concrete grasp on his memories. His senses were as muddled as his thoughts, unable to make out the distant sounding voices. He knew he was lying on his side, though he was slightly curious about the hard ground beneath him. Moaning as his head began to pound in pain, Deimos felt awareness trickling into his being. His ears picking up on voices hovering over him, the young elf felt a hard object make contact with his sternum. Painfully curling into himself, the elf struggled to take in gasps of breath as the wind was knocked out of him.

"Let's go blood elf!" An angry voice bellowed down to the Sin'dorei, sending another kick into his abdomen.

"Marcus, that's not necessary."

Cracking his eyes open at the familiar voice, Deimos allowed his pained eyes slowly adjust. Lying on his side, the elf was utterly surprised to find himself at an angle on stoned steps. Glancing around at the surroundings, his unnatural green eyes rested on the three faces hovering above him. The first was the familiar voice; Warren. Locking his eyes with the warrior's, Deimos could see the anger clouding his face. The man returned his look with a furious glare, his lips pursed in anger. Standing beside him was the King. Harboring his trademark calm and expressionless look, Wrynn cocked his head to the side at the elf; a slight irritation in his features. On the other side of the sovereign was another man. His eyes were livid, crazed with rage. The glare he sent to the elf made Deimos squirm under its scrutiny, fidgeting uncomfortably. Eyeing the man's face, Deimos slowly recognized the human; he was the one that punched him shortly before his trial.

"Where am I?" The elf's voice came out scratchy and harsh; similar to the throbbing pain in his head and nauseas stomach.

If possible, Warren's face turned darker. Shifting on his feet angrily, the warrior turned a deeper shade of red. "On the steps to the Keep. Mind explaining what happened?"

Propping himself up on his elbows, Deimos lifted his brows in surprise at the reply. Glancing around himself, the elf confirmed the warriors answer; he was lying half way up the white steps. Noticing a figure sitting with his head in his hands several feet to the right of himself, the paladin cocked his head to the side in confusion. The thumping in his head impairing his ability to think clearly, Deimos slowly ran through his clouded memories of the night before. A frown spreading across his face as he recalled shamefully drinking with the rogue, the elf silently belittled himself. He remembered his interaction with the high elf as a scarlet blush spread across his cheeks. Pushing past the embarrassing memory, Deimos slowly recollected how he ended up in his current situation. The rogue and himself had drunkenly decided to pay the king a visit to request for a small leave of absence to Silvermoon.

Turning his eyes to look at the expecting faces glaring down at him, Deimos opened his mouth as he rubbed his forehead with his hand. "I… I think I had too much to drink last night."

The answer was apparently the wrong one. Marcus, snarling at the young elf, grabbed the front of his shirt as he hauled the boy to his feet. The movement seemed to upset his aching body, his vision going blurry from the abrupt movement. His stomach wasn't as gracious. Turning his head just in time, the paladin emptied his stomach's contents. Liquid, which Deimos assumed consisted primarily of booze, splashed to the white stones as he heaved. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Deimos felt a firm hand grip the front of his shirt, pulling him forward slightly.

"We thought you tried to escape, blood elf," Marcus' enraged face was within inches of his own, his teeth clenched in anger. "We sent soldiers looking for you."

Smirking at the man, the elf willed his vision to stop wavering. "Guess it was a waste of time."

Sneering at the elf, the general threw him to the steps with a strong thrust. Unable to hold his balance, the elf ungracefully fell on the stones. The harsh landing seemed to upset his protesting body even more, his head feeling as if it were splitting in two. Wincing in pain, Deimos felt the tension in the air thicken as the king stepped forward. "Steele, bring him back to your residence; and this time, keep an eye on him."

Warren broke eye contact with his sovereign, instead directing his fury at the elf slowly picking himself up from the ground. "Yes, your highness. My apologies." The warrior paused, eyeing the silent figure to the side. "I thought Williams capable of such a task. I won't make that mistake again."

Rising to his feet, Deimos glanced over to the side. Indeed, the rogue lifted his head up from his arms at the sound of his last name. Bloodshot eyes and an ashen face, the elf figured Matheus felt just as sick as he did. Tilting his head ever so slightly at his commanding officer, the rogue diverted his eyes to the ground. "It was just a couple drinks-"

Narrowing his eyes at the reply, Warren's face darkened; his voice deathly calm. "You compromised not only your own safety but the safety of hundred by your immature actions last night."

The rogue gave an impatient sigh. "We were just having some drinks. Nothing harmful in that."

"What if he had been feigning intoxication?! He could have easily grabbed your daggers, killed you, and escaped! You acted foolish last night!"

Wincing at the yelling voice against his pounding head, Deimos eyed the furious warrior with annoyance. "Listen, Old Man-"

"I'll deal with _you_ later."

Annoyance being replaced with surprise, the elf clamped his mouth shut. At the receiving end of Warren's angry gaze, Deimos fidgeted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Turning his glare back to the rogue, the warrior regarded him for a moment. "As your commanding officer, I expect you to report to me tomorrow for your punishment."

Hanging his head, Matheus gave a deep sigh as he slowly nodded. Unable to find his voice, the rogue hoped the gesture would suffice the older man. Deep down, he knew he made a dire mistake. As much as the rogue wanted to regard the blood elf as a friend, he wasn't. His race still wore the Horde insignia, part of the ominous opposite faction. He had let his guard down; a simple act the rogue usually ridiculed others for.

Satisfied with the response, the warrior turned towards the silent sovereign, who kept his eyes trained on the uneasy elf. "If my king would allow it, I'll take Deimos back to my house now."

Lifting his eyebrows at the man, Wrynn gave him a skeptical and mocking look. "Yes, if you think you're capable of keeping a better watch on one blood elf. Truly, Warren, I felt you more responsible than this."

His eyes flashing in embarrassment and anger, the warrior glanced at the elf in disdain. "I promise, my king, it won't happen again."

"I should hope not," the king paused, directing his attention towards the uncomfortable paladin. "Consider yourself lucky to be under Steele's hospitality. Should there be a repeat of this incident, I won't hesitate to place you with General Jonathon."

Smiling darkly at the young elf, Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, we'd have a lot of fun together."

Sending a glare at the man, Deimos felt his ear erupt in pain as a hand grabbed the sensitive point. Wincing as the hand gave a rough tug forward, forcing his body to follow, the elf sent an angry glance at his assailant. Warren, promptly ignoring the elf's glare, pinched the ear harder as he increased his pace towards Old Town.

Sending one last look at the sick and obviously upset rogue, Deimos allowed himself to be led out of the canals and into the tunnels towards his temporary residence. Trying in vain to bat away the vice grip on his pointed ear, the man only increased the pressure and his speed in walking. Deimos cringed at the sensitive part of his body under attack, Warren disregarding the elf. Walking in that fashion and both silent, Deimos glanced at the man several times to inspect his face. The warrior's expression was blank and unreceptive, his brown eyes concealing any emotions he may have been feeling. Glancing up, the elf noticed the lack of sun. The sky overhead was dark and stormy, clouds threatening to spill rain over the citizens.

Reaching the man's dwelling, the warrior released the elf's pained ear as he moved to unlock the front door. Tentatively, Deimos rubbed the red and throbbing ear, the new pain increasing his already pounding headache. Pushing the door open with calmness, Warren stood to the side of the entry to allow the elf to cross the threshold in front of him. Still massaging the top of his ear, Deimos glanced at the overly calm expression on the man's face with skepticism. _Guess that's it. No boring lecture or anything._

Entering the house, Deimos distractedly heard the front door slam shut as the older man entered behind him. Opening his mouth to speak, the paladin began to turn around to face the warrior. Unexpectedly, a strong hand gripped his neck, throwing him with impressive speed and strength against the wall. His head coming into hard contact with a hanging dusty mirror, the elf heard the delicate glass shatter against the back of his skull. His sight dancing at the assault, the young Sin'dorei blinked several times in surprise at Warren's furious face in his line of vision. A thick hand crushed his windpipe in a vice grip, the older man's eyes flashing with anger and rage.

"_Al kim'jael!_" Warren snarled at the elf in Thalassian, slamming his body against the wall in anger. (**You little rat**)

Letting a string of curses in Thalassian leave his lips, Deimos fought against the assault. His hands immediately going to the iron grip on his air-hungry throat, the paladin twisted the humans' arm painfully. Feeling the clasp on his aching throat loosen from his fighting hands, Deimos paused in his struggle to take a greedy gulp of air. Warren, snarling at the elf's resistance, delivered a hard and fast punch to the paladin's face.

Giving a small groan as the fist made contact with his nose, Deimos instinctively brought his hands up to his face. Feeling warm liquid begin to rush towards his mouth, the elf became vaguely aware of the strong hand going back to his delicate neck.

"_Alah!_" Deimos gripped his bleeding nose harder, the pain in the back of his head pulsating (**Light**). A warm sensation on the nape of his neck confirmed the open wound on his head. The hurting injuries only made his stomach churn worse, his mind silently begging it to calm.

Livid brown eyes met stunned green ones. Warren, his vision going red from anger, noticed the apprehensive look in the paladin's eyes and promptly disregarded it. Leaning in closer to the young elf, the man squeezed his throat threateningly. "After all that I've done for you, this is how you repay me."

His timid eyes roaming the mad face in front of his own, Deimos squeezed his bleeding nose harder in an effort to slow the liquid. Not particularly happy with the lack of response from the elf, the man slammed him back against the wall by his throat. "You completely disrespected me. You humiliated me in front of my king and fellow soldiers."

Any notions of replying in a sarcastic tone completely evaded the young Sin'dorei. Instead, he kept his gaze focused on the enraged human. His nose and head beaming in pain, the elf coughed as the man increased his pressure on his throat. The decrease in air caused his voice to come out in a small whisper. "I…I'm sorry."

Snarling at the response from the blood elf, Warren squeezed the throat tighter; his vision blinded by his rage at the boy. "Scum. Just like the rest of the Horde."

His hands frantically gripping the solid arm that completely cut off his air supply, Deimos' green eyes were a mixture of fear and surprise. Vainly, the paladin began to thrash his legs at the raging man; but the man was unresponsive to the physical onslaught. Instead, he compressed the throat tighter. "Wa…Warren…"

The sound of his name pulling him from his trance-like state, the warrior blinked at the elf; taking in his panicked and anxious face. Widening his eyes at the scene before him, Warren let his arm drop to the side, releasing the young elf. Gasping for breath, Deimos fell down hard on his knees as his hands inspected his newly freed throat. Taking a step back from him, the warrior felt his blood cool down as he eyed the breathless boy. Blood poured from his nose, likely broken from the strong punch the man delivered. The back of his blond hair was matted with dark blood running down the nape of his neck. Blinking several times at the scene, the warrior glanced down at his shaking hands; the adrenaline of the altercation wearing off.

Still looking down at the paladin, Warren almost flinched as the elf raised his green eyes to meet his brown ones. Full of disdain, the elf skeptically eyed the man while he fought to catch his breath. Wary of the warrior, Deimos hesitantly rose to his feet. Shifting uncomfortably at the nervous and untrusting look in the young elf's eye, Warren watched as he brought a hand up to the wound on his head. Wincing as he probed it, Deimos didn't have to see his fingers to know they were covered in blood. Roaming his eyes over the distrustful elf once more, Warren ran a hand through his cropped hair as he turned to walk into the house further.

Watching with skeptical eyes as the man left the foyer, Deimos gave a small sigh. His stomach flipped warningly, the alcohol still left in his system protesting from the fight. Holding his throbbing head, the young elf silently took the stairs two at a time. Reaching the bathroom, he was relieved to find the small basin half full of water. Stepping into the small room and closing the door behind him, Deimos grabbed a white towel folded on a rack. Leaning against the basin, the elf inspected the nose wound. From his hung over state, the paladin knew he would be unable to chant Holy Light to remedy the wounds. He would have to wait to regain his strength first.

One hand gripping the side of the basin while the other grasped his nose, the elf clenched his teeth in preparation. Taking a deep breath, the paladin firmly twisted the broken cartilage. Pain exploded through his body as he set the nose. His stomach no longer able to stop the churning feeling, the elf was quick enough to lean over the toilet as he vomited. Clenching his eyes shut, the retching only agitated the pounding in his head worse. Returning back to the mirror and basin, the elf resumed his inspection on his injuries. The nose was correctly set; the bleeding stopped. Dipping the towel in the water, Deimos washed away the red liquid that covered his face. Unable to see the head wound, he knew it would be more trying to clean. Wetting most of the piece of cloth, the young elf winced as it came into contact with the wound on his head. Inspecting the towel, his was rewarded with seeing it stained red. Sighing to himself, he vowed to never drink again.

* * *

Nearly two hours passed since Warren heard the spare bedroom door close. Sitting at the table, he absent-mindedly eyed the strewed pieces of parchment on the wooden surface. Having received updated reports from the Silverwing Sentinels the day before at his meeting, the warrior thought he'd take the time to read it. After scanning the same page for over an hour, the man had to admit to himself that he wasn't paying attention. His mind kept replaying the past events.

The following day, he had gotten back from the meeting at a decent hour. Coming home to an empty house, he assumed the elf was still with the rogue. Warren met up with several other officers for dinner and a couple drinks, not noticing the hours pass by. Having come home at such a late hour, the warrior naturally assumed Deimos was asleep in his room. He had been wrong. Warren had taken it upon himself to wake the paladin up at dawn to find the room empty. Rushing to the Command Center in a panic, he was quick to inform Marcus Jonathon about Deimos' disappearance. The two had assumed the worse. Sending out groups of soldiers to hunt for the paladin, Warren received word that he had been found; at the Keep, of all places. Upon reaching the fortress, the older man took in the two passed out men and an empty bottle of ale on the side.

Shaking his head, Warren had never been as furious before. The stare from Wrynn was enough to make him blind; the distinct disapproving look in the kings' eye apparent. Marcus' presence only increased the warrior's rage, rendering him unable to control his anger. He was seen as a failure, weak, and a disappointment. Warren had expected to have a firm talk with Deimos when reaching the house, but something in his mind snapped when he looked at the arrogant elf. He lost all concept of self-reserve. Closing his eyes at the memory, the man felt shame pass over his being.

He was regarded as a level-headed and fair man, attributes that got him to his current rank. The actions he had taken against the paladin were anything but. True, he felt the boy needed an attitude adjustment, but he took the wrong route. Instead, he instilled fear in him through his anger; actions he felt were reserved for lesser people.

Pushing his chair back, Warren gave a great sigh as he moved into the foyer. Eying the shattered mirror and glass scattered on the floor, the warrior scowled. He would have to clean it up later. Reaching the table against the wall, the man opened a small leather pouch resting on the top of the surface. His hand wrapping around what he sought after, the man ascended the stairs.

Momentarily pausing in the doorway to the bathroom, Warren's face darkened as he scanned his eyes around the room. The basin still held water, its liquid no longer clear but stained with red. Hanging on the side of the basin was a damp towel. The fluffy cloth was tarnished with blood, its once stark white color gone. Eyeing the towel, the man figured the elf had set his broken nose himself.

Walking towards the closed spare bedroom door, Warren leaned against it with his ear. Hearing only silence on the other end, the man knocked on the wood with his knuckles. Blinking, the warrior was rewarded with silence. Thinking back to the distrusting green eyes, the man figured the elf was likely harboring angry feelings towards him. Giving a small sigh, Warren began to move away from the door. He'd let the elf sulk, if that's what he wished to do.

"Come in," the voice on the other side of the door called, surprising Warren. Gingerly, the warrior pushed the door open. Slowly moving into the room, the man roamed his eyes around the chambers.

Sitting on the bed in the same fashion Warren found him when he was meditating, Deimos was shirtless. He sat cross-legged and barefoot in the middle of the bed, his face calm and unreadable. Timidly, the man moved further into the room.

"_Doral ana'diel?"_ Warren asked, moved forward. **(How do you fare?)**

His face still passive and expressionless, the elf gave a shrug. "_Diel."_ **(Alright)**

Nodding at the response, Warren took in the paladin's set nose and cleaned face. Blood no longer covered his features, his fair complexion unsoiled. Noticing the damp blond hair, he figured Deimos had treated his head wound as well. However, the warrior thought with a slight grin, the only ailment that was untreatable was the inevitable hangover.

Giving an impatient sigh at the scrutinizing man, Deimos' eyes flashed in annoyance. "_Anaria shola."_** (Speak your business) **

Stopping at the foot of the bed, the man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "What are you doing?"

The elf narrowed his green eyes on the man. "Why do you want to know? Do you want to maybe break my arm for meditating?"

Crossing his arms at the sarcastic remark, Warren broke the eye contact with the elf. "How's the hangover?"

"Not good. But then again, I got my head slammed into a mirror; so maybe that's the problem."

Rolling his eyes as the dramatic tone, the man shifted his weight again. He figured the elf would hold ill-feelings towards him but he underestimated the boy's annoying fashion. "The mirror needed to be replaced anyways."

Smirking at the comment, Deimos allowed his eyes to soften slightly at the man. It was obvious, from his lack of eye contact, that the man was uncomfortable with the discussion. "If it makes you feel any better, my father would have had a similar reaction."

His firm brown eyes meeting Deimos', the man gave him a hard stare. "That doesn't make me feel any better. I'm nothing like your father; he was a dishonorable soldier back when I knew him, and it's evident that his parenting style isn't any better. And further, I don't feel bad for how I treated you." Pausing as he noticed Deimos cock his head to the side questioningly, Warren crossed his arms. "You're an arrogant and cocky kid. Yes, I feel guilty for losing my control. But you had that coming."

His face still passive and calm, Deimos blinked at him. "Anything else?"

"You're spoiled," the words left his mouth before he could stop them. "You walk around here, insulting my home, because I don't have the 'fine materials' your house does. Newsflash, hotshot, you're living here for the next three months so get used to it. No, I don't have your aged wine or delicate fish. I drink mead and eat whatever the tavern has. I've been this way since before you were born and I'm not about to allow an egotistical blood elf try to change my ways."

The calmness not faltering, the elf regarded the man. "Ok."

Warren ended his ranting, his eyes taking in the paladin's passive features suspiciously. "That's it? No sarcastic comment?"

Shrugging at the man, the elf stretched his legs out in front of him. "You seemed like you needed to vent. The ass-whopping sure as hell showed it."

Eyeing Deimos' amused face, Warren shifted his weight, changing the subject. "How's your head feel?"

Wincing as his hand brushed up against the wound, Deimos sent his eyes downcast. "Hurts. Meditating helps though; at least until I'm strong enough to heal myself."

Nodding distractedly, the man approached the sitting elf. Lifting up his fisted hand, he opened it enough to allow a ruby pendent to hang from a black chain. On the ruby was a black and white Thalassian symbol, shining when the light hit it. Holding it up in front of Deimos' line of vision, Warren watched recognition cross his features. Grinning, the paladin grabbed the necklace from the man's clutch.

Slipping it on over his head, the paladin regarded the man with a small smile. "You got it."

"Took a little bit of work," Warren replied, taking a step back to glance at the heirloom around the young elf's neck. "You got it from your father?"

Deimos nodded at the man. "He gave it to me four years ago; after the raid on Stormwind."

Lifting an eyebrow at the comment, the man regarded the paladin with a dark look. "I guess he was proud of you then?"

Rolling his eyes at the disapproving glare from the human, Deimos crossed his arms. "It was one of the few times he was."

Eyeing the defiant elf in front of him, the warrior approached the window. Rain drops lingered down the closed glass, the view showing the streets of Old Town being covered with heavy rainfall. His eyebrows drawn together in thought, the man allowed several silent beats to pass before addressing the Sin'dorei. "During your trial, the officer brought up a mission you failed. What was he talking about?"

His brown eyes scanning the water covered town, the man didn't have to turn around to confirm the glare boring into him. Silence followed the question, making the warrior wonder if the elf intended on answering him. Tearing his gaze away from the storm brewing on the other side of the window, Warren turned to face the boy.

His green eyes inspecting the cream comforter in anger, Deimos' face was clouded with annoyance. "It would be treason to discuss it with you." Lifting his eyes up to meet Warren's, the elf gave a small grin. "I'm Horde scum, remember?"

"Off the record; and you're convicted for your crimes already," the man began, crossing his arms over his chest as he approached the still sitting elf. Curiosity was etched on his face. "I remember hearing about an attempt on Archmage Tervoshs' life but didn't get a lot of details. You were supposed to kill him?"

Eyes roaming the warrior face, Deimos slowly nodded his head; the headache behind his eyes protesting at the movement. "My father assigned me to it." Swallowing hard, his green eyes stormed with anger and resentment at the memory. "It was supposed to be easy – he was traveling from Theramore to Ashenvale. But our intel was a little… skewed."

Taking in the hesitant look on the boys face, Warren was unsure how much more the elf would discuss the matter. Cocking his head to the side, the man decided to try a different approach. "The Archmage still breathes today, so I assume the problem had to do with you."

Eyes flashing in anger, the paladin set his jaw at the man's words. "It wasn't my fault the reports were outdated." Pausing as a scarlet flush reached his cheeks, the young elf turned his head down in thought. "Intelligence said he'd be with a small caravan. I wasn't expecting…"

"So much resistance?"

Shaking his head, the elf refused to meet the man's gaze; his eyes inspecting the comforter. "I easily got through his reinforcements. When I got to the archmage, he wasn't alone. Wasn't even prepared to fight." Swallowing hard, Deimos felt his shameful and angry flush deepen on his cheeks. "His family was with him. I couldn't… his kids were there."

Surprised at the words from the paladin, Warren allowed his eyes to roam the boy's disturbed face. "Did he try to defend himself?"

The blonde shook his head, his hair rustling around his face from the movement. "If he had been, I wouldn't have had a problem killing him. But," the elf paused to swallow hard, "he was just holding his kid. I couldn't take a life in cold blood."

"What happened for the rest of the mission?"

Lifting his eyes to meet Warren's brown ones, Deimos shrugged angrily at the memory in his mind. "More reinforcements came. I was… foolish." Again, the paladin paused as if searching for words. The throbbing headache was slowly impeding his ability to grasp the foreign language; he noticed his speech slip in and out of Thalassian. "I let my guard down and was ambushed; the archmage got away. My father ended up being the one to help me."

"I take it your father wasn't pleased?"

Laughing drying and darkly at the question, Deimos lifted an eyebrow at the man. "Your freak out downstairs was nothing compared to him angry."

Eyeing the paladin, Warren gave him a blank look. "As a commanding officer, I can empathize with him. You defied a direct order from your superior. I assume you were reprimanded?"

Rolling his unnatural green eyes at the man, Deimos sent him an exasperated look. "Yes, and I'm tired of being reminded about it." Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, the paladin gave the man an annoyed look while briskly changing the topic. "What's on today's agenda?"

Not wanting to let the subject go, the man allowed his gaze to linger on the young elf. Not receiving much reports pertaining to the training and workings of the officers in the Horde, the warrior was interested to gain any new information. From what he gathered, Tharsis Ares'mar was not only a thorough and strong officer; he was also a brutal one. Sighing to himself, the warrior ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing. It's raining like mad outside so I have no desire to leave the house. I'm up to my eyes in neglected reports as well."

His green eyes lit up. "Reports? Like the one I was reading the other day?"

Scowling at the interested and curious face, the man shifted on his feet. "Yes, though you're not allowed to meddle in these affairs. Now, I know based on the sheer amount of alcohol you must have drank, you're head must be pounding."

The elf gave a hesitant nod in reply, reluctant to admit to his weakness.

"You're more than free to sleep off the hangover today." Pausing, Warren turned a hard glare at the sighing boy. "But, should this happen again, I won't be as forgiving. What you did was extremely immature and stupid. If you're responsible enough to drink it, you should be responsible enough to know your limits."

Rolling his eyes, Deimos gave a smirk at the lecturing man. "I figured the ass-kicking would allow me immunity from a boring lecture."

"Don't get me started."

Silence enveloped the room, Deimos grinning at the man while Warren eyed the amused and arrogant elf's face. _My father always said I would have a kid just as disobedient as I was. I thought by not reproducing I would prevent his prediction. I guess fate is cruel. _Several beats passed, the sound of the rain pounding the side of the house the only noise. Moving towards the door to leave the young elf, Warren moved into the hallway; pulling the door closed.

"Warren," the paladin called out. Surprised at the use of his proper name, the warrior stopped to give the elf a questioning look. Opening and closing his mouth several times, Deimos blinked while trying to form the right words. "I- I do appreciate what you've, you know, done for me."

His brown eyes roaming the Sin'dorei's genuine face, Warren offered the elf a grin. "You're a good kid, Deimos. Confused as hell, but you have a good heart."

Returning a small smile back to the warrior, Deimos mutely nodded as the man pulled the door closed. Flopping back on the bed, the elf pondered the odd morning. Or rather, the strange week. He wasn't sure what fate had in store for him but Deimos figured he'd take whatever came at him. Life was no longer predictable, each minute offering something new and innovative to the paladin. Feeling his head pound with pain, the byproduct of the booze, the young elf silently decided that drinking one new experience he would never repeat.

* * *

Lifting an eyebrow as he heard footsteps run on the upstairs floor boards, Warren had an idea what was going on. Grinning to himself, the older man pushed his chair back to stand from the table. The day was late; the sun in mid-set. Feeling satisfied at the amount of work he accomplished uninterrupted, the man felt comfortable taking a break from the never-ending reports. His growling stomach pains reminded him that supper was slowly approaching.

Booted feet making loud contact with the stairs, Warren gripped the railing harder as he heard retching come from the bathroom. Reaching the second floor, the man noticed the door was ajar, the inhabitant obviously in too much of a hurry to ensure its closure. The heaving noises stopped, followed by the flush of the toilet. Grinning, the man slowly pushed the wooden door open.

Kneeling in front of the toilet, Deimos leaned forward with his arms resting on the porcelain seat. Taking deep breaths, the elf laid his head on his arms. His hair was damp from sweat, the blonde locks plastered to his forehead. His grin turning into a wide smile, Warren gave a chuckle at the sick elf. "Smells like bourbon in here."

Slowly turning his head, the paladin regarded the man with annoyed eyes. "I'm never drinking again."

"Yeah, we all say that when hung over. Give it a couple months."

Groaning as his stomach did another flip, Deimos clenched his eyes shut in pain and irritation. "Was there a reason you came in here or can I vomit in peace?"

His eyes full of amusement at the touchy elf, Warren leaned against the doorframe. "Sleeping didn't help?"

Deimos took several deep breaths, irritation etched on his features. "Obviously not."

The man grinned at the young elf. "Your body needs to get rid of the liquor. I'm sure you'll feel better come tomorrow, after throwing it all up."

"Can you just leave?"

Biting on his cheek to stop the smile that threatened to spill across his face, the older man eyed the paladin with mirth in his eyes. "It's getting late. I was going to head over to the tavern for some supper. I believe today they have smoke sagefish and lion chops for specials. Though a well done crocolisk steak-"

"Would you like me to vomit on you?"

Grinning at the agitated green eyes looking up at him, Warren gave him a feigned innocent look. "So, you don't want supper then?"

Groaning in annoyance, Deimos shifted uncomfortably. "No. But I'll take an elixir to stop being sick."

"Sorry hotshot, no alchemist can cure a hangover."

Closing his eyes as nausea swept over his body, the young elf prepared himself to heave into the toilet. Satisfied when the sick feeling eased, the boy gave a sigh at the small interlude.

"I'm going to go to the tavern. Do you want me to bring something home for you?"

His stomach churning at the thought of food, the elf gave an unpleasant moan. "I'm not hungry. I don't want anything."

Giving an impatient sigh, the man regarded the ill paladin with a smirk. "You might be hungry tonight. I'll bring something back. Do you feel like meat, fish, stew-"

"Seriously, Old School, I don't care. Whatever."

Smirking at the upset elf, the warrior knew he was getting to much amusement from his ailments. "Alright. Get some rest and try not to throw up on anything."

His head in his arms, Deimos' exasperated voice came out muffled. "No promises."

Smirking, the warrior retreated from the bathroom; the smell of booze and stomach acid making his eyes water. The image of the sick paladin brought back old memories from his own youth, particularly back in the barracks. A bunk room full of fifty young men, all suffering hangovers, and two toilets were never good odds.

* * *

As the bright sun beat down on his face, the young elf rolled over in an attempt to escape the light. A cool breeze from the open window swept across the room, chilling his bare upper torso. Eyes still closed, the elf blindly groped around the bed for his sheets and blanket. His reach yielding no results, he gave an impatient sigh. Curling in slightly around himself, Deimos tried in vain to fall back asleep and ignore the cold. His body going limp as sleep began to overcome him again, a strong breeze flew through the room.

Snapping his eyes open in irritation, the young elf tiredly rolled from the warm bed and approached the half opened window, straightening his twisted linen pants along the way. Sweating from the continuous vomiting, the paladin had opened the window to allow fresh air into his quarters before going to sleep. Taking notice of the lack of nausea, Deimos gave a thankful sigh. Pulling the window closed, he glanced at the rising sun. The sky was clear, not a single cloud blemishing the blue. Rubbing sleep from his green eyes, the elf padded back to his bed. At the foot of the bed was an entanglement of white sheets mixed with a cream comforter.

Retrieving the bundle, Deimos flopped back on the bed. Rolling on his side while pulling the blankets up to his shoulder, the paladin was content to fall back into a slumber. Several beats passed, the sound of chirping birds outside the window the only noise. Opening his eyes, Deimos gave an agitated grunt. The uncomfortable sensation of his full bladder wouldn't allow him to enter a soundless sleep. Staggering to tired feet, the elf approached the door to his room.

After spending the better part of the night over the toilet, Deimos had retired to bed early. He didn't wait for Warren to return home, nor did he wake upon his return. Feeling his empty stomach ache in hunger, the young Sin'dorei silently wished he waited up for the human's return with food.

Pulling the brass handle to his door open with one hand, Deimos ran the other through his messy blonde hair. The sound of movement reached his pointed ears as the elf stepped into the hall. His face falling slightly, Deimos watched as Warren made his way from his own bedroom towards the bathroom in the middle of the hall. Eying the distance, the young elf silently considered racing the human to the restroom. Clad in only a pair of night shorts, Warren scratched his head tiredly. Movement in front of the warrior caused him to lift his head.

Tired green eyes met inquisitive brown ones. Opening his mouth to negotiate the bathroom situation, Deimos watched in confusion as Warren's eyes widened in surprise and horror. Bringing his brows together, the elf eyed the panicked human passing up the bathroom to reach him.

"What are you doing awake?!" Warren scolded the elf in a voice hardly a whisper. For a human, the quiet tone would be almost inaudible. Due to his heightened elven senses, Deimos had no issue hearing him. "Get back in your room!"

Utterly confused at the man's strange behavior, Deimos eyed him oddly. "I've got to use the bathroom, Old School. I promise to not take longer than one-"

His strong hands gripping the paladin's bare shoulders, Warren abruptly began to push the young elf back towards his room. "No! You can use the bathroom later. Just… go back to sleep."

Pushing the firm hands off him, Deimos fought back at Warren. "Old School, seriously. What is your deal?"

Warren opened his mouth to reply, fighting against the stubborn elf. Deimos, however, noticed movement behind the man. His eyes leaving the warriors face, the paladin widened his eyes as he saw a woman walk across Warren's bedroom; the door wide open. Seeing the woman wearing only a men's shirt stopping mid thigh, the young elf felt his body go rigid at the awkward situation.

Warren took advantage of the elf's momentary surprise, pushing him with panicked force back into his room. One hand gripping the boys shoulder, the other silently closed the door to the bedroom. Deimos, still in shock at the scene, blinked several times at the man who continued to propel him backwards. Warren, his features calming significantly, pushed the astonished elf to the bed.

A grin replaced the shocked look. "Man, Old School, was that Elly from the tavern?"

Scowling at the amused look on the boys face, Warren turned towards the door. "Yes. Now, stay in here until I say so."

The elf gave a low whistle, grinning ear to ear. "Got to tell you, man, I'm impressed. Is this a, um, common occurrence?"

Squinting in annoyance at the paladin, the man gripped the door handle. "No. I don't want to hear a sound from this room, understood? Just go back to sleep."

His wide grin faltering, Deimos gave him an annoyed look. "I need to use the bathroom. I'll be quick."

"Didn't you throw up all the liquid in your system? You can hold it."

Rolling his eyes at the sarcastic comment, the elf crossed his arms over his chest as the man pulled the bedroom door open. "I hope peeing out the window is legal in your city."

Whipping his head towards the Sin'dorei, the warrior cocked his head to the side. "We'll just add it your list of charges."

Watching with dissatisfaction as Warren pulled his door shut, Deimos sat still on the bed. Glancing out the window, the elf mutely wondered if there was a law about urinating into the streets.

* * *

Opening his eyes, Deimos took in the sunlight leaking into the room from the window. The morning sun was bright and cheery, contrasting with the young elf's sour mood. His elven hearing picking up on voices in the streets, the citizens of Old Town were starting their monotonous lives. The sound of clashing swords gave evidence that the soldiers in the barracks were training. Giving a deep sigh, the paladin silently sent a death wish to Warren.

Trying in vain to sleep, the Sin'dorei gave up on the notion of falling back into a comfortable slumber. The excitement from the morning wouldn't allow him to rest easy. Unable to find entertainment, the elf meditated for the past two hours. His mind and spirit slightly calmer than before, he was still irritated at being forced to stay in his quarters. Scratching his still messy hair, he longed for a bath.

Glancing around to inspect the plain room, Deimos felt a grin spread across his face. In a week's time, the problem would be remedied.

A loud knock made him whip his head towards the door. Uncrossing his legs, the elf pushed himself up to a standing position as the door hesitantly opened. Warren, looking at the annoyed elf, was bathed and dressed; ready for the day. Glancing at the young elf still donning his night pants and lack of shirt, the human raised an eyebrow. "Fall back asleep?"

Scowling at the human, Deimos grabbed a pile of clothes he set out on the floor. Sending a glare at the older man, the paladin pushed past him to enter the hall. "No. Sure did take your sweet damn time saying 'good bye' though. Get a morning snogging in?"

"It's really none of your business what I do." The man watched the elf briefly enter the bathroom, only to return a second later, wooden bucket in hand. "I thought you had to go to the bathroom."

Grinning at the man as his bare feet padded down the stairs, Deimos made his way towards the front door. "Not anymore. And you don't have to water the flowers on my window for a couple days."

Watching the elf pull the front door open, Warren narrowed his eyes. "That better be a joke."

The elf smirked at the warrior, his only reply before slipping out of the house. The frown on his face unable to be held in place, Warren felt a grin tugging on the sides of his mouth. The evening had been a memorable one; holding the woman he loved in his arms all night. He hadn't expected his houseguest to impede on their morning, thinking the elf would still be asleep. However, if Elly had heard the boy, she didn't allude to it. After running to the market, Elly made them both breakfast in his meager kitchen. His grin turning into a full smile, the warrior longed to have a repeat of the morning. The sound of the front door opening pulled him from his reverie.

"We need to stop by the blacksmith," Deimos began as he shut the door behind him, the large pail of water held closely to his body. "I'm almost out of fel ore."

Nodding at the elf, the man followed him up the stairs. "We'll pick some up today. Just take it out of the fifty gold I gave you yesterday."

Pouring the water into the porcelain tub, the young elf chewed his bottom lip before turning to the older man. "Yeah about that. I need more money."

Widening his eyes at the elf, Warren crossed his arms over his chest. "You blew fifty gold in one day? What the hell did you buy?"

Shrugging at the man, Deimos made his way down the stairs to refill his bucket outside. "Hey, Old School, the economy's not what it used to be, ok? Things cost more gold; you just have to accept this."

Rolling his eyes at the sarcastic elf, Warren slammed a strong hand on the front door, stopping the young elf from pulling it open. Questioning and amusing green eyes met his. "I expect receipts for everything."

A sly grin spreading on his fair features, Deimos regarded the man with mirthful eyes. "You'll get them, don't worry."

Skeptically and suspiciously eyeing the devious elf, the man pushed his weight against his hand barring the door. "When are you starting your work around the house?"

Eyes downcast, the young Sin'dorei brought his brows together in thought. "I was going to do it on a day you were in a conference or something. I won't have a guard so I wouldn't be able to go anywhere anyways. Might as well do it then."

Gingerly removing his weight from the closed door, the man kept his trained eyes on the boy. "I have a meeting set up next week. You can begin then."

"Oh, I won't need more than a day."

Eyebrows shooting up in surprise, the man crossed his arms at the arrogant smile the elf wore. "You think you can complete everything in one day?"

The cocky smile growing in strength, Deimos pulled the door open. "Don't underestimate me, Old School."

Watching the door shut as the elf exited the dwelling, Warren felt a foreboding feeling creep up his spine. The cunning smile on the Sin'dorei's face was unnerving to the human, unable to interpret the boys' expression accurately. His brown eyes resting on the neglected cleaning in the sitting room, Warren couldn't help himself look forward to the elf's projects.

* * *

Stepping into the familiar area, Deimos gave a deep sigh. Glancing at the wooden and blunted swords on the wall in the training grounds, the paladin readjusted the package of fel ore in his arms. A group of young soldiers were practicing against several dummies on one side of the area, leaving the other side unoccupied. Glancing at Warren with bored eyes, Deimos gave him a shrug. "So, am I allowed to actually train or will I be killed?"

A bundle of parchment under one arm, the warrior glanced at the soldiers then at the training weapons hanging on the racks. "The blades are blunt so this is fine. I just need to drop off these reports in the Command Center." The man paused, his eyes roaming around the vicinity. "Don't leave this area, understood?"

Rolling his eyes at the firm voice, the elf felt his blood begin to pump faster in excitement. The sounds of grunting and steel meeting steel from the others practicing only increased his small high. Warren, noticing the thrill swirl in the elf's eyes, gave a small grin. "Based on how easily I bested you twice, you could probably use the training."

The mirth never leaving his face, the paladin regarded the man with an arrogant glare. "Give me a sword and I'll have you on the ground in no time. I've been holding a blade since I could walk."

Shaking his head at the cocky elf, the man started to move towards the doorway. "Holding the weapon and actually using it are two separate things." The man paused, watching as the elf slowly inched closer to the racks of practice swords after placing the package on the ground. "Behave."

Distractedly noticing the warrior's retreating form, the paladin made his way towards the rack of blunted swords. The light hitting the shining blades, Deimos eyed them questioningly. Gingerly, he pulled a two handed sword off the rack. Holding the sword out in front of him, he rested one hand under the middle of the blade while the other supported the hilt. Satisfied at the craftsmanship, Deimos approached a large and fortified dummy on one side of the practice area. Giving a couple testing swings with the weapon, the elf reveled in the adrenaline that coursed through his veins.

Charging his target, he gave the sword several basic thrust attacks. The blunted blade, while it made a loud thud when coming into contact with the dummy, hardly left a mark. The lack of physical evidence only inspired the young elf to attack with more vigor. Moving onto stabs, Deimos gritted his teeth as he stumbled; his footwork needed work. Putting more focus on that aspect of his training, the paladin began maneuvering more advanced swing attacks on the dummy.

Sweat beginning to bead on his forehead as several minutes passed, the elf didn't slow his onslaught. Adrenaline gave him a rush of excitement, the sword in his hands the source of it. Executing a complex aerial slice on the dummy, the elf was satisfied when he heard the thick wood buckle under the strength of his sword. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, the paladin inspected his handiwork on the wood. Grinning to himself, the young elf twisted the hilt in his hand arrogantly.

"You're footwork on the landing was clumsy. Put more focus on your feet than your arms."

Brows together in confusion at the analysis, Deimos turned around to meet his critic. Standing with arms crossed was a human, older than Warren, with a black eye patch covering his right eye. Wearing no armor, the man had a solid and strong build. A black goatee and mustache matched his thick black hair.

His chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, Deimos regarded the man with an arrogant smirk. "Oh yeah? Well, thanks for the tip but I think your caregiver is probably wondering where you wander off to."

The man's smirk didn't falter as he moved towards the egotistical elf. "Deimos, is it?" The elf hesitantly nodded. "You have strong lines in your arms but your legs are lacking. A guard is only as good as the sturdy foundation that supports it."

Giving a cocky laugh, Deimos shook his head in astonishment at the man. "No offense; I mean, I'm sure you were a decent swordsman during the First War, but I'm an experienced paladin. I don't know if there's a veteran's meeting or if you're lost, but maybe you should let those actually practicing use this area."

Eyebrows slightly going up at the comment, the man kept his face serene and calm as he moved towards the rack of practice weapons. Silently, he grabbed a two handed sword from the resting blades.

Deimos gave another laugh. "What are you doing?"

"Well," the man began, his voice as placid as his expression. "If I have to practice in order to critique you, then so be it."

Crossing his arms cockily as he watched the human approach him, the elf lifted a delicate eyebrow. "You want to practice on one of the smaller dummies?"

The man blinked at the question, gripping the thick hilt in his hands. "No, I want to duel you."

Tossing his head back in a jovial laugh, the paladin eyed the docile older man. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Do you doubt your abilities?"

His cocky smile spreading across his face, Deimos narrowed his mirthful eyes at the man. "Doubt my _own_ abilities? Man, you're something else. Look, you're old and handicapped. I would feel bad."

Giving a small sigh, the older man assumed a right stance; his left foot slightly forward with his right foot behind at an angle. "I have no handicap that I'm aware of. Now, do you accept the duel or not?"

His eyes roaming the battle-ready human, Deimos gave a large sigh. If the older man wanted to be sore, then so be it. Grinning to himself, the paladin figured if he could best the human quickly, he could resume his actual practice on the dummies. "Sure. Why not?"

Gripping the hilt in his hands, the elf routinely placed his feet in a similar foot pattern to the humans. His green eyes trained on the human in front of him, the paladin mutely wondered if he would strike first. The man's brown eye, still holding its calmness to it, also held its gaze on the elf. Sighing to himself, Deimos figured he would have to initiate an attack.

His back foot moving forward to advance on his enemy, Deimos brought his sword up to execute a downward slice. His eyes still on the human, Deimos was amazed when the older man moved with impressive speed. The man's sword clashed with his own as he pivoted around the young elf. In the middle of his rotation, the man kicked is leg out; his firm kick coming into contact with the back of the elf's knee.

Unbalancing him, Deimos stumbled forward slightly. Striving to regain his footing, the paladin was surprised when he looked up to see the human patiently waiting for the elf to right himself.

"You're getting careless," the man began, his good eye roaming the elf's body. "When you advance, don't let your back foot cross over the heel of your front. You compromise your balance."

Squinting in irritation at the older man's words, the elf didn't waste any time to carry through with an assault; hoping to catch the talking man off guard. Spinning on the balls of his feet, the paladin brought the sword down in a slice across the man's chest. A strong deflect stopped the attack; the man grinning at the paladin while they each pushed with strength against the other. "Like I said, you have impressive arm lines."

The man broke the clash, pivoting on his foot to get behind the elf. Turning his head to try to see his assailant, Deimos began to follow the human. Hardly bringing his sword up in time to stop a strong attack on his shoulder, the young elf gritted his teeth in irritation at himself. "Interesting. We'll talk about that after the skirmish."

Sighing in annoyance at the older man's comments, Deimos silently wondered how the human was easily blocking his assaults. He moved with amazing speed for his age, making the elf wonder if he was letting his own skills deteriorate.

Gritting his teeth in anger, the Sin'dorei gave a strong thrust on his sword, hoping to push his opponent off balance. His enemy, however, took the push like a stone wall. His stance didn't falter; as if the assault never occurred. The man took advantage of the elf's waning footwork, bringing his sword down to smash the pommel into his lower abdomen. Eyes watering from the pain that erupted, Deimos threw himself to the floor in desperation from the blade that was swiftly slicing the air towards his throat.

"Rebound faster from a failed attack."

Watching as the man prepared to land an aerial lunge at his vulnerable form on the ground, Deimos rolled expertly to the side, sword still in hand. His footwork immediately advancing on the older man, the paladin feigned a stab to the left. Frowning, Deimos watched the man block the faked assault as well as the second that followed up. "I hope your poker face is more believable than your feigns."

His blood boiling at the man, the elf advanced the human only to have his blade blocked. Advance, block, retreat; it was a continuous cycle. Hoping to find a flaw in the man's defense, Deimos was in awe at the lack of vigor the man was putting forth in the skirmish. His hair and face were clean from sweat, his breaths still even. However, he still managed to block every blow the elf sent his way.

About to pivot on his foot to try to get behind his foe, Deimos heard a familiar chant leave the man's mouth. Eyes widening, the paladin was powerless to escape the bolts of holy energy that connected with his chest. Falling to the ground from the strong and painful attack, the boy felt his sword slip from his grasp. _Those were the words to Holy Wrath. He must be a paladin; but that was a hell of a lot stronger than mine._ His vision dancing for several seconds as the holy energy left his body, Deimos' green eyes adjusted to see a pointed blade in front of his face. Blinking at the welder of the weapon that was positioned at him, the older man grinned down at him. The young elf had lost the fight.

"Not bad, Deimos," the human began, removing the weapon in exchange for an open hand.

Reluctantly, the elf accepted the offered hand, pulling himself up in a standing position. The movement upset the already bruising skin on his stomach. Eyeing the man's calm face skeptically, Deimos opened his mouth to address the human.

"Shadowbreaker!" Both the elf and older man turned their heads at the voice. Walking towards the pair was Warren, a cheerful expression on his face. "It's been a while. How was the campaign in Northrend?"

Green eyes darted from Warren's face to the older man's as the elf cocked his head to the side questioningly. "Shadowbreaker?"

Eyeing the elf, Warren gave a small nod at the other man. "Yes, this is Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker."

A deep scarlet flush covered his fair cheeks as cold realization set in the elf's stomach. Averting his eyes downcast in embarrassment, Deimos mentally kicked himself. He had read reports from the Second and Third War regarding the man's companies. A hardened and experienced soldier, Shadowbreaker was the commanding officer for the paladins in Stormwind City.

Warren took in the redness on the elf's face, completely oblivious to the reason. "He's the person to train with. He's an impressive officer and paladin trainer."

Shadowbreaker gave a small smile towards the panting Sin'dorei. "We already have."

Shaking his head, Deimos felt his cheeks burn in humiliation. "Wow, I feel stupid…"

Laughing joyously at the uncomfortable elf, Shadowbreaker clasped a hand on his shoulder. "No hard feelings. But," the man said, his eyes loosing the mirth and become firm, "you're biggest weakness is you only rely on your eyes."

Lifting his head, Deimos regarded the man with quizzical eyes, embarrassment still evident.

Motioning to the eye patch, the older man continued. "You have many other senses to rely on; utilize them. As an elf, you already have an advantage."

Wiping the back of his hand along his glistening forehead, Deimos shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Nodding at the man in reply, the elf eyed the white flagstone under his feet; taking in the trainer's comments.

"And," the older man continued, eyeing the fidgeting boy, "you are a paladin; not a warrior."

Bringing his questioning eyes up to meet Shadowbreaker's, Deimos turned his head in confusion. Warren also regarded the older man with a curious gaze.

"You don't call on the Light as much as you should." The trainer paused, taking in Deimos' thoughtful face. "Do you train mostly with a warrior?"

Nodding at the human, the young elf glanced at his forgotten sword laying several paces from him, shame swirling in his eyes. "I usually train with my father."

Taking in the darkening cloud that was slowly sweeping over the boy's features, Shadowbreaker gave a small smile. "You're a worthy opponent. Arrogant in your abilities but you're young; especially by Sin'dorei standards."

Abruptly, the elf raised his downcast eyes to meet the calm brown ones of the paladin trainer. Brows together, Deimos swallowed hard. "Why are you giving me advice? You realize I'm still part of the Horde, right?"

A small smile crossed the man's face as he broke eye contact with the elf. Thoughtfulness washed over his features as his eyes had a distant look to them. "I have a strong feeling our paths will cross again. And not bearing arms against each other. I think fate has bigger plans for you than you realize, Deimos."

Shifting uncomfortably at the cryptic premonition, the young elf darted his eyes at Warren as if looking for clarification. The warrior, gaze roaming Shadowbreaker's face, held the same confused and bewildered look to it. His brows were drawn together, his face in deep thought at the man's words.

Focus and reality returning to him, Shadowbreaker gave a tight smile at the mystified elf. "Don't pay me any heed. I'm just an old man, remember?"

Skeptical eyes still roaming over the man's face, Deimos couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that ran up his spine. While not as in tune with the Light as a paladin ought to be, the young elf felt truth behind his words. There was strong evidence enough based on his past week that his life was changing unexpectedly. A month ago, he assumed he'd be in Northrend; sword in hand while he fought on the front. The easy and unproblematic scouting mission he was given as a punishment had turned into the exact opposite. From a repulsive cell in the Stockades to a comfortable bed in an Alliance officer's house, Deimos mutely wondered what else could happen. He had less than three months to figure out a way to send word to Silvermoon City; a daunting task that seemed nearly infeasible.

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**Review please! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Like I said, this chapter is a lot darker than the previous ones. My editor was even surprised by it. Sadly, the story is coming to an end soon. Chapter ten is currently finishing up its editing and I've started on chapter eleven; the last chapter to the story. It's exciting to see how far this story has gotten. Thanks so much for reading it! **

**Blizzard owns everything except my original characters. **

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Glancing up at the dying sun in the orange sky, Warren gave a small frown. Having been in a meeting with ambassadors from the Silverwing Sentinels, the man had missed the entirety of the day. The conference commenced at dawn; only just relieving him from the uncomfortable and stiff chair. While the meeting had been productive for the greater part of the day, the warrior was still restless from sitting stagnant for such a long period of time.

Giving a large sigh, Warren turned into the tunnel from the canals toward Old Town. The streets were barren; most of the citizens tucked away in their houses eating supper. An occasional guard would pass by the officer, offering him a stiff nod of his head in greeting. The older man would nod back in a welcoming way, his mind set on reaching his destination. His stomach growling in hunger and thoughts jumbled from sitting in the long convention, the man distractedly wondered about the state of his home.

A week had gone by since Warren found the blood elf on the steps to the Keep hungover. The paladin had decided to begin and complete the projects the man assigned to him while Warren sat in the meeting. He claimed to be able to finish the entirety of the house in one day; as long as the warrior wasn't present. The condition made Warren feel uncomfortable; the notion of leaving Deimos at home with tools making his skin crawl. The boy seemed apt enough, but the warrior couldn't stop the foreboding feeling in his stomach.

The week had passed without much pomp. Warren had found the elf to be most manageable when allowing him time in the training grounds, which suited the warrior fine. There were times when the arrogant attitude would compel the man to insanity; his only reprise the bottom of a bottle of bourbon. After much deliberation, Warren had allowed Matheus to escort Deimos around the city when he couldn't. The only condition the man had instilled was a curfew. Smirking, Warren remembered the argument and Deimos' furious face. The Thalassian curses had only made the warrior laugh more, which increased the elf's rage. However, the paladin accepted the condition; much to his dismay and disdain. Moving towards his house, the warrior felt content at the passing week.

Stopping in his tracks in surprise, Warren lifted his brows in astonishment. Where his decrepit and worn porch used to rest was replaced with sanded boards. Walking on the porch hesitantly, the man couched down to run his hand over the sanded and treated wood. Smiling at the perfect smoothness that the skin on his hand felt, the warrior was slightly impressed. The wooden boards were completely straight, not a single nail out of pattern or chipped grain present. The sanding was even, the staining flawless. Shaking his head in amazement, the man had to admit he was rather in awe with the young elf. While he was worried about the craftsmanship the boy would put forth, Deimos had actually come through with the project. The wooden porch was faultless and balanced. Grinning ear to ear, the older man unlocked the front door to inspect the rest of the house.

Pushing the door open, the man felt his feet turn to iron. Glancing around his limited view of the house, Warren was barely aware of his mouth hanging open at what used to be his home. The hardwood boards that used to floor his house were gone; replaced with what looked to be ceramic tiles. Formed in curved diamond shapes, the tiles were a dark coal color; nearly black. The rug in the foyer was replaced with a large red one; its color as deep as blood. Even the walls were different. Constructed of plaster and stucco, the walls were painted a dark gray with a golden colored paneling coming up a quarter of the wall. Looking forward into the kitchen, Warren was surprised to find hanging purple and blue silk in the doorway.

Unable to form words, the man continued to gape at the change of his house. Stepping further into the dwelling, Warren widened his eyes further at the change in his sitting room. The walls and floor were the same as the foyer with a large maroon and blue rug in the middle of the floor. His old armchairs were replaced with half backed couches, the cushions white with large yellow and red pillows on it. Surrounding the two couches were oversized pillows of various shapes, scattered on the floor. Long purple silk sheets hung between the foyer and sitting room, acting as a room divider.

Tearing his shocked gaze away from the room, Warren took in the stairs. The wooden railing completely gone, it was substituted with a golden intricate railing, accented with a red ornament occasionally. The steps were no longer wooden, tiled in the same flooring as the rest of the house.

Movement in front of him caused the man to rip his gaze away from the foreign looking stairs. Walking from the kitchen, Deimos wore a bright smile. His fair face was covered in sweat and dirt, his red shirt sticking to his upper torso. Wiping his hands on the front of his leather pants, the young elf gave the astonished man an excited smile. "Like it?"

Blinking several times, Warren felt his mouth open and close several times, trying to find the words. His eyes roamed over the rooms. Noticing a large hanging chandelier in the middle of the foyer, the man cocked his head to the side. Light was illuminated from it, but not from the source of a flame. Instead, the bulbs of the chandelier shone with magic, sprinkling down a continuous stream of arcane dust that seemed to disappear before reaching the floor.

"W-what…where's my house?" Warren turned his shocked eyes at the young elf, who only deepened his innocent smile.

"You said you wanted some home improvements done. And, well, this is it."

Blinking furiously to try to clear his confused and bewildered thoughts, Warren fought to his get his attention under control. "This is not what I had in mind." The man paused as a broom moved past him, sweeping the floor and staying upright on its own accord. "What the hell is that?"

The young elf blinked. "It's a broom."

"Yes, I can see that. But what is it doing?"

Raising a delicate eyebrow, the young elf gave a smirk at the man. "It's cleaning."

Reality and realization slamming into the older man like a brick wall, his confused and shocked eyes turned to the young elf with anger and fury. "What the hell did you do? This looks like-"

"-Silvermoon." Deimos gave a little smirk, walking towards the kitchen. "Yeah, I wanted to give it a little taste of home."

His gaze full of rage, Warren glared at the young Sin'dorei as he pulled back the hanging silk to enter what used to be his kitchen. While the man hardly used the room for its purpose, the warrior enjoyed his paltry kitchen. Walking into the blood elf adaptation of the room, the man felt his boiling blood slightly ease when he walked into the kitchen.

The fireplace in the corner was missing, replaced with an iron cooking stove. Above the appliance were two shelves made of lavishly carved woods; various pots and pans stacked neatly on their surfaces. The walls and floor were made of the same material as the rest of the house, a round deep red rug rested in the middle of the room. The once worn cupboards and countertops were replaced with polished marble surfaces and stained dark woods. Adorning the walls were glowing blue sconces, the shimmering arcane dust trickling to the ground.

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Warren walked further into his kitchen. The once tattered table and chairs that occupied the room were gone. Instead, a round table sat in its place with six high back chairs pushed in place. The table had a blue surface with gold accented designs traveling over the top. Following in a similar pattern, the chairs had red cushions with gold accents running along the sides. At the top of each chair was a glowing blue ornament.

Stopping to glance at a flowerpot, the man turned his head to the side. Floating nearly three feet off the floor, the potted plant was suspended in the air by unseen forces. "Is this…all of it?"

Smirking at the man's surprised face, the young elf gestured to the stairs. "Almost."

Walking up the foreign stairs, the man ran his hand over the smooth golden railing. Reaching the second floor, the trend in the rooms didn't stop. Glancing at the bathroom, Warren noticed, thankfully, the door was left on the hinges; ensuring privacy. Following behind the young elf, the warrior entered the small bathroom in awe.

An opulently crafted candelabrum rested in the corner of the room, the arcane glow illuminating the small space. The once simple basin was swapped with a large marble sink, golden taps accenting the appliance. The porcelain tub remained; the only difference was the addition of the same golden valves. Walking forward, the man knelt down next to the bathtub curiously. Turning one of the taps hesitantly, he was rewarded with rushing water escaping the faucet.

Shaking his head at the newest addition to his once humble home, Warren turned to glance at the paladin. Leaning against the doorframe, Deimos fingered the golden hoop in his ear with a smirk. "Before you thank me, we've got two more rooms to see."

Shaking his head in astonishment at the cocky elf, the older man mutely followed behind the boy. His eyes sending daggers at the back of his head, Warren briefly wondered if his room was touched. Stopping in front of the study, the elf motioned to the open space. The once bare room was decorated in the same fashion as the rest of the house, the old desk and chair were missing; more lavish replacements in their place.

Motioning with a jerk of his head towards the closed spare bedroom door, Deimos gave a smile. "This is the best part."

Giving the door a push with his shoulder, the young elf grinned widely as he walked into his room. The entire floor was covered in a deep red carpet, golden molding on the bottom and top of the black walls. A smaller version of the elaborate chandelier in the foyer hung in the middle of the room, filling the space with light. The blue linen drapes that once hung on the windows were replaced with layers of red silks. The closet door gone, purple silk hung in the doorway. The simple wooden bed gone, Warren squinted at the odd piece of furniture in its place. A thick purple comforter lay on the rounded bed, piles of plush pillows scattered against the head of the bed. Brushed gold accented around the lower half of the bed, while hanging purple and blue silks enclosed the top of the odd bed.

Glancing at a glowing green crystal nestled in the corner, Warren cocked his head to the side. The crystal was several feet long, hovering in the air without aid. Averting his attention to the young elf, the man allowed his fury to be released. "What the hell did you do?!"

"Whoa, Old School," the boy began, his eyebrows drawn together in mock hurt. "I worked very hard on this. A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

Gritting his teeth in anger, the man clenched his hands into fists at the cocky elf. "Knock the sarcastic shit off. Where's my stuff?"

"Gone. Don't worry; I had it donated to the orphanage. Figured you'd want it to go towards a good cause or something. "

Warren took a threatening step towards the young elf, who swiftly took a step back to keep a safe distance. "I would have preferred it to stay here! We are not in Silvermoon, Deimos!"

Eyeing the redness starting to seep into the man's face in anger, the paladin blinked innocently at him. "I kept your bathtub."

"My room had better not look like this, for your safety!"

Shrugging at the man with a smirk, the lightened mood of the paladin seemed to only infuriate the warrior more. "I didn't even go into your room, so just relax."

The words seemed to make the man's face redden with anger even worse. Moving with precise speed and accuracy, Warren's fingers gripped the sensitive point on the top of the young elf's ear. Walking forward while pulling the wincing boy, the older man half dragged him down the stairs.

"We can talk about this rationally."

Not releasing the paladin until he reached the kitchen, the warrior gestured around the room with his arms wildly. "How did you pay for all of this?!"

Rubbing his throbbing ear, Deimos gave a smirk at the man. Turning to retrieve a small stack of parchment on one of the marbled countertops, the young elf offered it to the man. "Here. I gave the contractors down payments with the money you gave me. But they'll want the rest paid pretty soon."

His blood going cold as his eyes ran down the pages, the man gripped the stack of papers in anger. His furious brown eyes met innocent green ones. "7,000 gold?! I have to pay 7,000 gold?!"

"Pretty good price, huh? I got it down by promising them protection if I ever raid Stormwind. Idiots."

Mouth open in utter surprise and horror at the lack of seriousness in the elf's voice, Warren slammed the pile of receipts on the polished counter with a thud. Taking aggressive steps towards the young elf, the warriors voice came out deathly calm; his eyes alluding to the exact opposite. "Give me a good reason why I shouldn't strangle you with my bare hands."

His cocky smile not faltering, Deimos brought his hands up in front of his body while he took steps backwards from the angry man. "Because your house has style now."

"I liked my old house."

Not taking his gaze off the advancing man, Deimos rolled his eyes at him; still moving backwards. "I've seen orc's with more creativity."

"And how do you expect me to pay for this, hm? You obviously can't; this work was supposed to pay off your other debt."

Sucking in a small intake of air out of surprise as his back came into contact with the wall, the young elf crossed his arms over his chest arrogantly. "My father has the same title as you and we live an affluent lifestyle. Has the Alliance cut your pension or something?"

"He's 135 years older than me; of course he'll have more money." Stopping a foot away from the cocky elf, the man gritted his teeth. "You're missing the point. This is my house! _My_ house. Not yours. When you leave in three months, I have to continue living with this!"

Biting his lower lip in vain to try to suppress the grin that threatened to spill across his face, Deimos regarded the man with a feigned innocent look. "You probably should have specified what 'home improvement' meant a little more. You're instructions were pretty ambiguous."

The idea of smashing his blond head through the wall was rather appealing to the warrior as he glared at the boy. Closing his eyes in fury, Warren slowly turned away from the sarcastic elf; stopping himself from doing something he'd regret later. Counting his breaths, the man felt his blood begin to calm as he swallowed several times. Glancing around the kitchen, Warren gave a sigh. "How did you do all of this?"

Moving from his spot on the wall, Deimos gave the warrior a proud smile. "Mostly myself. I hired a couple workers to speed up the process. I'm pretty good with my hands; I help my father out around our house in Silvermoon a lot." The elf paused, the smile growing across his face. "Magic also helps tremendously."

Running his hand over the smooth marble surfaces, Warren paused as he watched the sweeping broom move past him. Unable to suppress the small smile on his face, he gestured at the broom. "Is this all magic?"

Eyeing the older man's interested smile with a grin, Deimos gave a small nod. "I enchanted it myself. Same with the flowerpots."

His brown eyes moving to rest on the hovering potted plants, Warren gave sigh. He allowed his eyes to linger on the rest of the kitchen, taking in every minute detail that decorated the room. "I'll admit, I do like the kitchen and the bathroom."

His grin turning into a wide smile, Deimos gave a laugh at the man. "No more hauling buckets up the stairs to bathe. And, you don't have to worry about candles. Though you'll need to change the fel crystals semi-annually."

Shaking his head as he rested his eyes on the paladin's amused face, Warren gave a small sigh. "So much for my savings and retirement."

"You wouldn't retire. So the money would probably sit in your bank until you die; after which your government would seize it because you have no heir."

"Thanks for the pessimistic prediction."

"Hey, I'm just rationalizing the redecorating."

Moving into the foyer, the warrior inspected the sitting room with thought. While the decorating wasn't to his particular style, he didn't say that it wasn't eye appealing. "So is this what your house in Silvermoon looks like?"

Following the man into the entrance, the young elf gave a shrug. "Sort of. I couldn't replicate it exactly; like the stairs or some of the woodwork."

Nodding to the paladin, Warren pushed the hanging silk back to enter the lavish sitting room. Moving to sit down on one of the couches, the man was surprised at the comfort the overstuffed cushion offered. "You said you live an affluent life? Your father's wealthy?"

Scratching the nape of his neck, Deimos plopped down on several pillows resting on the floor. "He's well off."

Eying the young elf's reluctance to discuss the subject, the man leaned back against his newest piece of furniture. "Do you still live with him?"

Chuckling at the question, the paladin inspected the material covering the purple pillow under him. "I wouldn't if it was allowed. I'm not old enough to live on my own yet."

Roaming his eyes over Deimos' features, Warren grinned at him. "I keep forgetting about your strange aging. Then again, it's probably for the best. Matheus' apartment is enough reason to _not _allow youths to live on their own. That place is a hazard zone. Anyways, you'll be of age soon enough; then you'll be wishing you could go back to someone looking after you."

Deimos blinked at the man. "I have 80 years till I'm considered an adult."

Regarding the elf with a blank look, Warren lifted an eyebrow. "80 years?"

Nodding, Deimos smirked at him. "You'll be dead before I reach adulthood."

Crossing his arms over his chest at the paladin, the man sent the elf a hard gaze. "Let's not look at it like that."

Warren watched Deimos laugh at the man's discomfort from the comment. In all reality, it didn't bother the man particularly. He knew humans had significantly shorter lives than majority of the races of Azeroth. While he was considered an adult when he'd seen fifteen seasons, it wasn't the case for other races. Old customs and rules regulated such traditions, each race having their own unique maturity rate. His brown eyes roaming the young elf's face, Warren had a hard time accepting that he wasn't considered mature in his culture. His fierce fighting style and training was on par with veteran soldiers, only reaffirming the boys' military upbringing.

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Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. His mind completely numb, Deimos felt the familiar tugging on the back of his mind slowly quiet down. His hunger for mana was quelled completely, his trance state wholly concentrated on his respiratory. When he felt his thoughts slowly wandering, he would quickly chastise himself and force his mind to stay focused. No longer aware of his surroundings or even the sensation of feelings in his limbs, Deimos allowed his mind to fall comfortably into its routine daze. Meditating for his entire life, the paladin was able to reach a trance state with relative ease.

Abruptly, the young elf strangely became aware of a breeze on his bare shoulder blades. It wasn't the coldness that surprised him but rather noticing the sensation in general was odd. Feeling the calm and serene emotions leave his body, Deimos felt the feeling return to his limbs; the weight of his hands resting on his knees slowly become apparent.

Slightly annoyed at being pulled from his trance, the paladin opened his eyes to glance around his room. The morning sun glistened through his silk window treatments, the room deathly silent. His eyes roaming the empty space, he mutely wondered what had drawn his attention. Suddenly and unexpectedly, he felt his elven senses heighten themselves, his respiration increasing and going on alert. He body was trying to relay a hidden message to him. Pushing himself off the rounded bed, his bare feet crossed the carpeted floor silently, his face etched in concern.

Warren had left at dawn to attend another meeting, one which would likely last till after the sun set. The elf had turned down the warriors offer to find an escort for the boy if he wished to leave the house, as Matheus would also be involved in the conference. Deimos had opted to take the day to meditate, not having devoted a full eight hour day to the task for some time.

Still clad in his night pants, the elf couldn't seem to pinpoint what his senses were trying to tell him. Pulling open his closed door, he began to move into the hallway. Stopping in mid step, Deimos' senses were going off like an alarm. Furiously roaming his eyes around the hallway, he found it deserted. Still confused, the paladin knew he couldn't disregard the panicked feelings his body was sending him. Cocking his head to the side, the young elf decided to try a different approach. Closing his eyes, he put his focus on his hearing. His pointed ears not picking up anything different, he felt the ringing alarms in his head increase dramatically. About to declare himself insane, Deimos snapped his eyes open as his ears heard a small noise emitting from the lower level. Squinting in concentration at the noise, he tried to pinpoint what it could be. It sounded to him like a muffled and slow clicking; it's nearly soundless clamor would be inaudible to humans.

Instinctively taking a step back to hide in the shadows of his doorway, Deimos heard the familiar noise of the front door slowly creaking open. Heavy footsteps, trying futilely to be quiet, entered the dwelling slowly. Recognizing why his senses were warning him, the young elf leaned forward ever so slightly to try to get a glimpse at the intruders in the house. Due to the angle of the hallway, he was rewarded with only seeing a quick peek of a man walking into the foyer. Leaning back into the shadows, Deimos felt his mind going a million miles a minute. If there was only one man, he could easily best him. However, the elf couldn't help but wonder why they would break into Warren's house. Old Town was hardly considered a neighborhood of wealth.

Cocking his head to the side, the elf put his concentration back into his hearing while he closed his eyes in thought. His ears picked up on footsteps, more than one set, moving throughout the lower level of the house. He heard the intake of breaths but due to the incontinuity of the respirations, he couldn't determine how many were there. Turning his head more, the young elf entered a semi-trance as he willed his body to place more attentional resources to his hearing. Suddenly, he was bombarded with noises from the bustling city; children crying, mothers scolding, and soldiers training. Ignoring the background clatter, Deimos willed his mind to pick up the noise he was looking for. With a grin on his face, the young elf was rewarded with hearing three distinct heartbeats emitting from the foyer area. There were three intruders.

Opening his eyes and returning to reality, Deimos leaned forward slightly while trying to stay hidden against the wall. His gaze falling on a man, the young elf felt his blood run cold. The man had the build and height of a tauren, his thick and daunting stature making the elf second guess his abilities. The large human was standing stationary, his side facing the curious paladin. Running his gaze up and down the man, Deimos spotted the dagger resting on his hip. He would likely have to fight.

Another man slowly approached the larger human and gave a gesture with his hands. The larger man seemed to understand, though his facial expression didn't change. Squinting in curiosity at the strange exchange, the elf unknowingly leaned forward. Dreadfully, the floor board beneath his bare foot creaked with his limber weight. Glancing down in surprise at the source of the loud noise, Deimos turned his gaze back at the men to meet amused and surprised gray eyes staring straight at him.

The man had a sly grin on his face as Deimos instinctively plastered himself back against the wall in the shadows. Leaning his head back against the cool wall, he let a Thalassian curse leave his lips. It was useless to hide; the intruders knew where he was.

Closing his eyes as he heard the stairs silently creak with footsteps, Deimos figured the men weren't trying to mask their approach. A chuckle confirmed his feeling. "C'mon out blood elf. I promise this'll be less painful for you if you cooperate."

Gritting his teeth at the condescending tone the human had, the young elf heard two more snickers following the comment. There was no place for him to go; his bedroom offered no escape route or weapons. Swallowing hard, Deimos felt like a trapped animal.

"Aw, c'mon," the voice taunted as it reached the second floor. "You've got nowhere to hide. Just save us the time and hassle, and come on out."

The voice had stopped at the top of the stairs. Brows together, the young elf knew the intruder was playing with his prey. Taking a deep silent breath, Deimos felt his adrenaline begin to course through his veins at the situation.

"When we find you," the man chuckled darkly to himself, "which we will, we're going-"

A fast blur to the side of the human caught him by surprise. Bringing his dagger up in an effort to defend himself against the charging elf, he simply couldn't match the speed and agility the paladin had.

Deimos, keeping his eyes trained on his target, expertly twisted the man's right hand painfully. Within a second, he heard the bones in the man's wrist snap under the assault; the dagger falling to the ground in a clatter. The human let out a blood curling scream at the pain; which only seemed to fuel Deimos' assault even further. While not the best trained in hand to hand combat, he was more proficient than his current foe. Holding the front of the grimacing man's shirt, the young elf delivered a painful punch to his face. Drawing as much strength into his arms as possible, the paladin threw the human into the wall with a resounding boom. The body lay motionless on the ground.

Completely unaware of the other two presences, Deimos turned around to face a solid chest. Glancing up at the angry man nearly five inches taller than himself, the young elf confidently threw a swift punch at the large human. Expecting the fist to land into the human's face, the elf was surprised when an oversized hand gripped his fist mid air. With speed, the man twisted the smaller hand in his own, satisfied when the bending arm gave a loud crack.

Screaming from the pain that enveloped his body as his forearm snapped like a twig, Deimos was mutely conscious of the third man that checked the status of his downed friend against the wall. A bulky hand gripped the elf's throat, charging him against the wall. Useless to stop the impact, Deimos felt his vision swim as the plastered wall cracked beneath his head. His green eyes taking in the calm and methodical brown from the large man, the young elf knew he'd have to ignore the pain. The hand gripping his precious air supply squeezed harder, threatening to break the delicate part of his body. Swallowing hard, the elf brought his leg up to land a kick at the sensitive area between the man's legs.

Eyes widened in pain, the large human released the young Sin'dorei's throat as he fell forward on his knees. His mindset reverting back to his military training, Deimos ignored the nausea his stomach felt at the odd angle his broken arm dangled from. Clutching the hurting limb to his body, the young elf ran down the stairs. Taking steps two at a time, his felt his heart bursting out of his chest at the adrenaline. His hearing was filled with the pumping of his blood.

Swiftly reaching the front door, the young elf felt himself give a small sigh of relief. He knew that his safety lie on the other side of the wooden door. With soldiers prowling the streets and the Command Centers' close proximity, the paladin knew his attackers wouldn't continue the assault in the streets. While he typically didn't like to flee from a brawl, Deimos knew this was one fight he didn't stand a chance. Each man was decorated in daggers; the larger man nearly twice the boys' stature. His sword arm was cracked cleanly in half, rendering him defenseless.

Pulling the door open, the young elf was rewarded with the fresh air and sun hitting his face. Never had he been so relieved to see the putrid human city. Panting and heaving from adrenaline and pain, Deimos quickly scanned his eyes in the vicinity for an armed guard or citizen. His green eyes landing on the retreating form of a soldier, his back to the elf, Deimos felt his heart leap. He looked forward to seeing his assailants reprimanded, and hopefully killed, by the city soldier for dishonorably trying to kill him.

Preparing to call for the guard, Deimos was surprised when a massive hand was placed over his mouth. Immediately following, a strong arm wrapped itself around his bare midsection, pinning his arms to his sides. Feeling a warm body behind him swiftly pull his incapacitated form back into the house, Deimos thrashed his legs at the man. He jerked his upper torso wildly in an effort to escape the thick arm as the sun left his face. Though the strong arm irritated his broken limb, Deimos didn't pay it any attention. His mind was focused solely on survival.

He felt a small flame of hope in his mind go out as the front door was slammed shut; his body still being propelled backwards by the larger man. Heavy and hot breath tickled his ear as a whispered and amused voice made his heart drop even more. "Stop fighting and I promise your death will be fast."

The hands still on his mouth and upper torso, Deimos felt his body turned around by the man behind him. Blinking, another human stood in front of him; a smirk on his face. He wasn't the same man that the young elf had shattered the bones in his wrist from before. "You're quite the trouble."

His chest rising and falling heavily from the fight, Deimos wished the hand would remove itself so he could say what was on his mind to the disgusting human. The man in front of him had a scar running down the side of his face, his oily black hair giving evidence to a distinct lack of bathing. These men weren't trained soldiers; they were criminals.

Smirking as the young elf sent a heated glare his way; the black haired man pulled a shining dagger from his waist band. Watching the man twist the blade in his hand tauntingly, Deimos squinted his eyes in anger and resentment at the man. Though his heart was beating madly, threatening to burst from his chest, he refused to give the humans the satisfaction of seeing his fear. If he was going to die, he'd die with honor.

"I hope you don't take this personally," the man said, stopping a foot away from the elf's face. "It's all part of the job."

Unable to respond verbally, Deimos' eyes bore wounds into the man's face; their gazes holding a silent battle.

The man's face held amusement and mirth at the obviously distraught elf, a sly grin spreading on his face. "Any last words?"

The hand on his mouth never faltering, the young elf simply continued his defiant and disdainful stare into the man. Breaking eye contact to glance at the blade hovering close to his body, Deimos looked back in to the man's eyes with anger.

The man snickered at the paladin. "I take that as a 'no'." Eyeing the angry boy in front of him, his gaze ran over the elf's naked chest. His stare lingering on the delicate ruby pendant that rested on his neck, the man gave a smirk. Giving a quick tug on the pendant, the human was satisfied when the chain released. Putting the necklace into his inner pocket, he sneered at the furious elf. "You won't need that anymore, will you?"

Eyeing the young elf's angry face, the man nodded at the larger human holding Deimos in place. The gesture seemed to be understood by the human, his arms tensing around the elf's mid section and gripping his mouth tighter. Deimos swallowed hard as he watched the man in front of him lean in closer with the dagger.

Abruptly, his body went into survival mode as the blade came closer to his chest. Thrashing his body madly in an effort to fight back, the young elf knew it was all in vain. The human behind him had strong arms, his tightening grip subduing the fighting paladin.

Glancing down, elf sickeningly watched the blade of the dagger pierce the skin on his chest. Stinging pain alerted the paladin of the onslaught to his body. The man smirked darkly as he slowly pushed the dagger further in between the Sin'dorei's ribs. Clenching his eyes shut and leaning his head back in pain, Deimos felt like his chest was on fire. His was somewhat aware of the warm blood that trickled from the deep wound.

The man slammed the rest of the blade into the elf, satisfied when the young elf gave a moan of a pain. Snickering at the paladin, the man twisted the dagger lodged in his chest. His grin turned into a smile as Deimos screamed in pain from the blade scraping his ribs; only to have the thick hand over his mouth muffle the noise. Pulling the blade out of the wound, the man nodded at his colleague.

Abruptly, the arms that held Deimos' body released him, causing him to fall forward. The fatal wound leaked his red blood on the tiled floor as he lay with his chest struggling for each breath. His entire being in pain, Deimos kept his eyes closed as he tried to calm his body going into shock. Coughing, the elf felt warm liquid leave his lips.

The sounds of footsteps sounded distant. Cracking his pained green eyes open to see a face smirk at him as it left the house, Deimos groped the deep wound with his good hand. Blood continued to flow generously from the stab in his chest as he futilely held his hand against it. Clenching his eyes shut, the young elf knew it didn't matter; the dagger wound was fatal.

Laying on the floor for several beats, Deimos took a deep breath as he considered his options. Lifting his head up slowly to inspect his surroundings, he noticed he was in the foyer. Rolling over on his hands and knees painfully, the Sin'dorei gritted his teeth as he pushed himself up to a standing position. His broken arm tucked into his body, the other hand gripped the wall for support; trailing lines of blood along the surface.

Limping forward, Deimos felt his eyes fill with water as his feet struggled to cooperate for him. He knew his destination was in the sitting room; which seemed a hundred miles away. Opening his mouth, the young paladin began to chant the words to Holy Light, his voice coming out slurred and quiet. Almost falling over several times, he entered the sitting room; his pained eyes fell on what he sought.

Nestled in the corner was a hovering fel crystal, its source of mana glowing in hope for the young elf. Grimacing as he coughed up more blood, Deimos finished the holy chant. Much to his dismay, he felt the wound slow its bleeding but not heal itself. Brows together in confusion, the pained elf reached the floating mana crystal. Falling hard to his knees, Deimos lifted a shaky hand as he began to siphon the mana from the fel source; his mouth beginning to furiously chant Holy Light again.

Clenching his eyes shut as he struggled to finish the chant, he was again disappointed to find the wound not close up. Giving a strangled sob as his exhausted body fell forward, Deimos prayed to the Light for a miracle to happen.

* * *

Biting her lower lip as she walked from the training grounds, Lena gripped her staff in her small hands. Another day of practice to see no results. However, she thought with a smile on her face, she didn't kill or _seriously_ injure anyone, so it was a decent day. The gnome knew that she had to begin grasping the arcane talents of a mage better if she expected to progress through her class. She had already been traded by two other battalions; Commander Steele being the only officer patient enough with her lack of talent.

She enjoyed the class, but felt like she struggled in most everything she did in it. Her older sister had been a seasoned and decorated mage for the Alliance. Her trademark smile slowly drooping into a frown, the gnome felt sadness overcome her. _That was before the trogg's…_ Her sister had fought valiantly for their homeland, Gnomeregan. When she never returned from battle, Lena made a silent vow to walk in her footsteps in taking up the class and help fight against the troggs. Working under the same mage trainer that her sister did, Elsharin had an immense amount of tolerance for the small girl.

Stopping in her walking to strap the staff to her back, she leaned against a trader's old crate to get leverage with the large weapon. Leaning forward slightly to try to maneuver the long staff into its holding strap, Lena distractedly watched three men walk past her. Two of the men supported an unconscious third. Eyes wide, she swiftly moved her short legs to catch up with the three.

"Um, excuse me please," she called out in a loud voice from behind them, a worried smile on her face. Humans and draenei were difficult to talk to; they were taller than dwarves and lacked the acute senses of the night elves.

The group momentarily paused, giving her time to jog to them. Up closer to the human's, the gnome was able to inspect the unconscious man. His wrist twisted in an unnatural way, he had blood coming from his split lip. "Can-Can I offer you any aid?"

The two coherent men exchanged uneasy looks. A rather large man, even for human standards, addressed the girl with a calm and placid voice. "We'll be fine. Just got in a… bar fight."

Nodding at the group, the small mage let her bright eyes linger on the man with black slick hair. His hand was covered in blood; he gave her an uneasy look. Shifting from one foot to the other, Lena nodded at the man with a forced smile on her face. "My first aid skills aren't the most paramount but I can look at your hand if you want."

Giving a short shake of his head, the man fidgeted impatiently. "We're fine, gnome. Continue on your way."

Slightly taken back by the man's abrasive comment, Lena kept a tight smile on her face while she stepped out of their way. Watching at their retreating forms, she felt the one man was unnecessarily rude to her. Shrugging, she figured not everyone could be in cheerful spirits; especially if they just had an alcohol induced fight.

Walking through Old Town, she pondered on what was to become of her. She had left Ironforge; the refugee spot for her displaced race. Her parents had been distraught but accepted her wishes to follow in her sisters' footsteps. Being accepted as an apprentice under the mage trainer Elsharin, the gnome was quick to pack her meager bags and travel to Stormwind. However, she vastly underestimated the dramatic culture change.

Humans were… pessimistic. Used to her own cheerful race, Lena often felt out of place during practice. She viewed everything with a positive light; all scenarios's had a silver lining. She was raised to behave as such; the rest of her race believing the same philosophy. Life was short; you had to make the best of it. In a city like Stormwind, filled with troubled humans, she felt like an outsider. Elsharin, one of the few high elves left in Azeroth, could easily relate to the girl; a reason Lena took a liking to her. While there was the occasional gnome in the Dwarven District, she missed the mass multitudes of her race. But she knew her training in the city would ultimately help her people in the long run.

Smiling to herself, angry hushed voices reached her small ears. Turning her head towards a dark alley on the outskirts of Old Town, Lena pulled her staff from her back instinctively. Crouching down closer to the ground, the girl crept along a stoned building while she made her way down the alley. Not having to put much effort to hide her small body behind a wooden crate, the girl listened with interest.

"Did you kill him?" Leaning forward, the mage was surprised to see a young soldier in training armor talking with the three men she ran into just minutes before. Cocking her head to the side curiously, the soldier looked very familiar.

"Yes," replied the man with black hair; the rude one. "Now where's our payment?"

"I want proof."

Sighing, the black haired man pulled something out of his inner pocked and presented it to the soldier, who grabbed it from his hands. Squinting, Lena watched the sun shine off a red jewel suspended by a chain.

Satisfied, the young soldier pulled three small leather pouches from a pocket under his plate armor. "Here you are gentlemen."

Turning around on the crate, Lena brought her hands up to her face in utmost horror. She wasn't sure what, but she felt something terrible had happened. Not sure what to do with the information, she figured she needed to tell someone. If a person was hurt and needed help, Lena would do all she could in her power to help the individual; no matter who it was.

* * *

Matheus leaned forward laughing. "Man, I can't wait to see this."

Walking on the side of the rogue, Warren rolled his eyes as he smirked. "I didn't find it the least bit funny."

Leaving the Command Center, the rogue and warrior each carried stacks of parchments in their hands, evidence from the long meeting the two attended. There was to be a scouting mission needed in Northrend, Warren suggesting the apt rogue take the job. The reconnaissance assignment wouldn't be for another four months; making discussions for it rather difficult. Warren was used to making decisions on short notice; not penciling them in for later dates. However, Matheus seemed thrilled with the prospect of scouting such an important task. Of course, more logistics would need to be thought through, but the preliminary idea was pleasing.

Walking down the steps, Matheus sent the older man a grin. "When did you say he did this?"

"Couple days ago; when we were in the meeting with the Silverwing diplomat."

Squinting at the afternoon sun, Matheus couldn't help but feel giddy at getting out of the meeting early. While discussing the possibility of the mission was exciting, the fact that it was still four months away drained all enthusiasm. Matheus was a man that lived in the moment; organization and dates seemed too constricting for his nature.

Turning a corner, the rogue spotted the officers house in the distance. "So are you going to make him take it all down?"

Warren regarded the younger man with a shrug of his shoulders, his spirits lifted from being able to salvage the rest of the day. "Probably not. I've been meaning to do some kind of refurbishment on the house; just never figured it would be blood elf architecture."

"I've never seen their style, so it should be interesting."

Grinning to his friend, Warren walked up the porch, motioning with his hand at the boards. "He actually did the porch right. I was half expecting him to just burn it down."

Lifting an eyebrow while he inspected the fine craftsmanship, Matheus gave out a low whistle. "Kid did a nice job. Think he'd mind coming over to my place for some redecorating?"

Placing his hand on the doorknob, the warrior gave the young man a smirk. "Not if you don't-"

Standing behind Warren, Matheus gave him a quizzical look as the man stood motionless in front of the closed door. Eyebrows raising in a questioning way, the rogue leaned to the side to see what caused the man's silence. Warren eyed the already unlocked door before turning his attention to the rogue; his eyes clouded with doubt and suspicion. "I locked this door when I left. You don't think Deimos…"

Immediately falling into a crouch to inspect the lock, the rogue eyed the door knob expertly. Taking notice in the areas of chipped paint, the younger man gave the door knob a slow turn; his ear up against the lock. Standing up, he gave the older man a worried look. "No, this lock has been picked."

Both men immediately pulled their weapons from their sheaths, anxious and apprehensive expressions on their faces. Sword gripped in one hand, Warren turned the doorknob with his other. He felt a jumble of emotions running through him; anger at who broke into his house, excitement for the possibility of a fight, and, somewhere deep inside of him, concern for Deimos' safety. Not sure what to expect, the warrior gave a push on the thick wooden door with his hand, a creaking sound rewarding the action.

Eyes wide, it took all of Warren's training not to run into the house at what was before him. A large puddle of dark blood, nearly black, lay on the floor in the foyer. Smudges and tracks of the red liquid painted one side of the wall in a streaking manner. His eyes furiously scanning what he could see from the door way, he felt his heart increase in its beating. He mutely wondered whose blood it was that formed a small pond on the tiled floor.

Matheus, his eyes taking in the scene, gave a small intake of breath. Turning to Warren with wide eyes, he replied in a whisper. "I'll stealth. I'll let you know if I find anything."

Nodding distractedly at the younger man, Warren watched the rogue disappear into the shadows as he entered the deathly silent home. The seconds droned by slowly, the warrior's blood boiling with each passing tick. Someone had broken in his house, and by the looks of it, there had been a fight. Unable to hold his patience any longer, the man gripped his sword while he walked into the dwelling. He couldn't wait for Matheus.

Careful to avoid the blood, Warren briefly inspected the stream of red liquid on the floor, creating a path. His senses heightened, the officer ran his eyes forward, following the line of blood. Turning into the sitting room to the right, Warren slowly and cautiously followed it.

Taking in an audible gasp of breath, Warren's eyes landed on the prone figure in the corner of the room. The trail of blood led to the individual, confirming the man's thoughts. "Matheus!"

Rushing forward towards the body, the man placed his sword on the ground next to the pale figure. Leaning on his knees, Warren was absently aware of wetness beneath him; he had kneeled in a puddle of blood. The figure lay on its side, facing way from the older man. Still, Warren didn't have to see his face to confirm who it was. The fair skin, blond hair, and pointed ears already gave away his identity.

Flipping the elf over on his back, Warren eyed Deimos' unmoving body. His face was ashen; whiter than his usual fair complexion. Blood covered his bare chest, a gaping wound the source of the blood on his chest. Digging his fingers into the elf's neck to find a pulse, Warren was surprised at the warmth that was emitted from the boy's skin. His frown deepening, he failed to feel any pumping beneath his fingers.

"Light…" Matheus' voice drifted over the warrior. The rogue knelt down next to the man, inspecting the elf's face. "Is he…?"

Running his hand over his face, Warren turned his gaze away from the wounded boy. "He has no pulse."

Leaning in closer to the paladin, Matheus gingerly placed his own fingers against Deimos' neck. Without even searching for thumping beneath his fingers, the rogue moved to place his hand against the elf's face. "Warren, he's still warm. If we can get him to a priest…"

Not waiting for the young man to finish his line of thought, Warren moved from his crouched position; his face set in determination. "Run to the Cathedral of Light. Tell them what happened and to expect him."

His eyes lingering on the wound to get a good description of it, Matheus nodded briskly. "Can you carry him yourself?"

Putting an arm under Deimos' knees and slipping the other under his back, Warren easily lifted the paladin. "Blood elf. He's light. Now go."

Watching as the rogue ran with impressive speed from the house, Warren carefully yet swiftfully made his own way out of the house. Not bothering to even shut the front door, the man figured whoever broke into his home had gotten what they sought.

* * *

Sitting on a hardened stone bench, Warren leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Hearing the choir in the Cathedral of Light sing hymns, the warrior felt anger and concern course through his veins. Reaching the cathedral out of breath, unconscious elf in arms, Warren was rather impressed to find Archbishop Benedictus, as well as other priests, waiting for them. He ushered the two into the healing ward in the cathedral. After placing the boy on the bed, Warren was steered out of the area; allowing only the healers and priests in the private room.

Looking down at the large stain of blood on his once gray shirt, Warren felt his blood boil more. He wasn't sure what made him angrier; someone breaking into his home or failing his duty. He was given the task of guarding Deimos, either from hurting others or someone hurting him. Running a hand through his short hair, Warren remembered the brief conversation he had the first day Deimos was at his home; he had told the elf that he was there for his protection. Denied weapons, the older man knew the paladin had no way to defend himself.

Hearing footsteps on the polished stone, the man turned his head to the left. Standing up in the presence of his sovereign, Warren tilted his head in respect to Wrynn. He was alone, the bright sun coming through the large windows illuminating his blank face. "At ease, my friend."

Sitting down hard with a sigh, Warren ran a hand over his tired face. Glancing at the king with questioning eyes, he was surprised to find his usual expressionless face etched with unease. "Have you received any word from the priests?"

Shaking his head at the man, the Warren watched as a priests' apprentice briskly walked past the two men, bloodied cloths in hand. Sending his brown eyes downcast, the older man shook his head. "I'm sorry, my king. It was my fault. I should have been watching him."

"This is no one's fault; other than the person that did it. Don't place the blame on you."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Warren leaned back against the stone bench. "Have we heard anything about who it could have been?"

The king gave a small shrug and a tight grin. "He's a Horde soldier. I'm sure there's a long list of people who'd want to spill his blood."

Bringing his brows together in thought, the man kept his gaze forward. "That's not good enough for me. I want names."

"We'll do all in our power to investigate. But our only witness is lying in there."

About to respond to the sovereign, a female priest with a long white and pink robe approached them, her face blank and expressionless. "Are you here for the blood elf?"

Nodding hesitantly, the man stood to his feet; Wrynn slowly following. The girl gave a polite smile and tilted her head forward in respect to the king, turning to address the warrior. "Archbishop Benedictus said you can come in now."

The two men eyed each other; Wrynn giving a small grin at the officer. "I'm sorry I can't offer you more answers, my friend. But I promise that the investigation will be thorough."

Nodding at the king, Warren returned the smile. "Thank you, my king."

Grinning one last time at the warrior, Wrynn turned on his heels, his footsteps echoing throughout the cathedral. The priest seemed to relax considerably after the sovereign departed, her hand gesturing towards the door. "He'll see you now."

Nodding in thanks to the young priest, Warren gave a small push on the walnut door. Immediately, his nostrils were filled with the aroma of sterilization elixirs. Not particularly comfortable when in the healing wards, Warren had to force himself to not gag at the scent. Pushing the door completely open, the man stepped hesitantly into the room.

The large window against the far wall sprinkled the sun's rays into the room; the placement giving evidence to the ending afternoon. The archbishop stood on one side of the room, scribbling furiously on a stack of parchment. His face was calm and serene; he didn't give any evidence to hearing the warrior's approach. Lying in a bed on the other side of the room was Deimos. His chest was wrapped with white bandages, his face turned away from the man. White sheets were pulled up to his hips. Seeing the rise and fall of the young elf's chest, Warren felt slightly more relaxed.

"How is he?" The man asked, hesitantly entering the room. Benedictus lifted his gaze from the stack of parchment paper he scribbled on, offering the commander a grin.

"You got him to me just in time." The priest paused, turning around to regard his young patient with a smile. "But he's awake so you can ask him yourself."

Eyebrows up in surprise, the man watched the paladin turn his head from the sunlit window to regard Benedictus with an annoyed look. "I was trying to fall asleep."

Moving forward towards the bed, Warren roamed his eyes over the elf's body. Impassive brown eyes met exhausted green. "How do you feel?"

"Tired and sore. What happened?"

Scratching the back of his neck, the man crossed his arms over his chest. "I thought you could explain that to me."

Shaking his head at the man, the young elf gave him a questioning look. "I mean, how did I get here?"

"I carried your limp, dead body from the house. I got out of the meeting early. If I hadn't, we wouldn't have gotten you here in time."

Letting the information settle, Deimos blinked several times as sleep slowly began to creep up on him. "Did you find the bastards that did this?"

Taking in the tired look on his face, Warren began to edge closer to the door. "No, but after you've rested, we'll need descriptions of them." Pausing, Warren directed his attention to the priest approaching the elf. "What kind of wounds did he have?"

"Stab wound in the intracostal area punctured his lung. The blade was poisoned to stop healing spells. Ulna and radius were fractured; it wasn't multi-fragmentary so healing the arm wasn't an issue." The archbishop gingerly pressed on the bandaged chest, Deimos eyeing the priest with distrust. Chuckling at the young elf, Benedictus moved back towards his parchment. "He'll need to rest for a couple days, but he'll make a full recovery." Pausing to eye the mistrustful look in the elf's eye, Benedictus gave another chuckle. "I'm afraid that defiant attitude will stay though."

Smirking at the priest, Warren lingered in the doorway. "When can he be released?"

"Let him stay here for the night." Deimos gave an irritated sigh, Benedictus eying him with amusement. "You can come get him in the morning."

"Thank you, Archbishop." Turning his attention towards the young elf struggling to keep his eyes open, the warrior gave him a look over. "Rest. I'll be back tomorrow."

Swallowing at the lump in his throat, Deimos eyed Warren; fighting the fatigue that threatened his body. "Thanks, Old School. Guess I owe you one."

Rolling his eyes at the elf's attempt at showing gratitude, the warrior gave a small smile. "Just get some sleep, hotshot."

Nodding his head in thanks to the archbishop, the officer walked through the doorway into the white stoned hall. Turning to give one last glance into the room, the man took in the paladin's already closed eyes.

The boy was fine; now Warren needed to hunt out who it was that committed the crime. The king had been right; they were in a large city that harbored prejudiced feelings towards the blood elf. Narrowing down the gigantic list of possible perpetrators would be close to impossible. Sighing to himself, Warren desperately needed a drink and a bath.

The clicking of advancing footsteps caused the warrior to lift his head towards the hall. Approaching the older man were two women; a high elf and gnome. Cocking his head to the side in curiosity, Warren watched with interest as the gnome tried futilely to keep up with the elf's longer strides. Half the height of the taller mage, the gnome had to sprint to match her pace. As they drew closer, the warrior recognized the two women.

"Lena, Elsharin," the warrior began, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. The gnome had a worried look on her face; making her features look foreign without her usual smile. The high elf had her typical solemn expression, her blue eyes darkened. "Can I help you?"

Glancing at the nervous and distraught gnome, Elsharin stepped forward. "Commander Steele, I heard there had been an assault. Did the blood elf survive?"

Nodding at the mage trainer, the warrior leaned to the side to allow the two women a look into the room. Cocking her head to the side, Elsharin took in the paladin's sleeping form; his wrapped chest the only indication that there had been an attack. Her eyes sweeping over his face, the mage was unable to find a difference between a high elf and himself; his unnatural green eyes closed. Breaking her gaze away from the boy, she turned her somber blue eyes at Warren. "I think we have information that can aid in your investigation."

Raising an eyebrow, the warrior watched as Lena rung her hand nervously as she stepped forward. Swallowing several times, the gnome inclined her head forward in respect to her officer. "Commander Steele, I-I'm not sure if it's relevant to the specific attack that occurred in your domicile. Taking in the crime rate statistics in Old Town, it's quite probable that another assault took place today. I was unable to hear any names so my information may not be very helpful at all. But if you-"

Lifting a hand to interrupt the small girl's ranting, Warren crouched down to see eye to eye with the mage. "Be at peace, Lena. Just tell me what you saw."

Biting her lower lip nervously, the girl shifted on her feet. "There were three human males, one was rather incapacitated and another had blood on his hands. I overheard them talking with another man about killing someone. They exchanged some items and-" The mage broke from her story, wide eyes filling with unshed tears. "Oh Commander Steele! I didn't know who got hurt! If I had known, I would have approached you immediately!"

Sighing at the gnome, the man laid a gigantic hand on her small shoulder. "It's ok, Lena. Did you get a look at the other man?"

Nodding, a hot tear making its way down her flushed cheeks, Lena fidgeted with her hands. "He was young. And was wearing training armor. He looked quite familiar… but…" Her bottom lip quivering, the mage felt the onslaught of tears spill over her cheeks as she sobbed. "I-I'm sorry! I can't place him!"

Sighing at the emotional gnome, Warren glanced at the high elf for support. Elsharin seemed to pick up on the unspoken request, crouching down to the gnome's level to give her a supportive yet stern look. "Lena, relax. Commander Steele needs you coherent."

Nodding while she wiped the warm liquid from her cheeks, the small mage looked at her commanding officer. "That's all I saw. I'm sorry; I didn't hear any names."

"But you said he was wearing training armor?"

The mage nodded, her pink hair moving with the gesture. "He was a soldier."

Standing from his kneeling position, Warren felt his vision go red in anger. A soldier of the Alliance had been involved in the attack; making the situation all the worse. Gritting his teeth, the warrior glanced at the gnome; an idea forming in his mind. If the small mage had recognized him, it was eluded to a likely reason. Heaving an angry sigh, the warrior gripped his hands into fists. He would get to the bottom of it.

* * *

Bursting twin chestnut doors open, the warrior stalked into the bunkroom furiously. The abrupt entrance seemed to pull the attention from the room to his presence; the soldiers stopping to spare their commanding officer a glance. Following shortly behind Warren was Matheus, his eyes darting around the faces that gave quizzical looks at him. The rogue had been informed by the warrior about the information Lena had relayed to him. However, Matheus was slightly perplexed as to why the man would request his presence. Glancing behind himself, the rogue eyed the four armed soldiers that followed at his heels. The day was going from bad to worse.

"I want everyone up against the wall! Let's go!" Warren angry and baritone voice resounded throughout the bunk room. The boys were slightly confused at the odd request, each giving him a curious look before dropping what they were doing to comply with their commanding officer. Eyeing the soldiers in his battalion, Warren felt his anger resonate even more.

Satisfied when curious and bewildered soldiers stood with their backs against a long wall, the warrior approached the closest bunk. First ripping the tightly made blankets from the bed, the man flipped the mattress off the bed. Underneath the bunk were two locked wooden chests. Pulling them out, the man gestured to a blinking and confused Matheus forward. "I want you to open every one of these."

Nodding, his eyebrows drawn together in uncertainty and confusion, the rogue crouched down to begin the work. "Yes, sir."

Satisfied, Warren turned his rage to the next set of bunks as he treated them in an identical fashion as the earlier one. Again, he pulled the twin chests out from under the bed for the rogue to pick. Hushed whispers reached the man's ears from the curious soldiers as they watched Warren destroy their bunks and infringe on their privacy.

Matheus was keeping up with the lock picking, opening each chest with impressive speed. He wouldn't bother looking at the contents, his mind solely focused on the task Warren had gave him. The rogue worked methodically and swiftly, taken back by the sheer anger the warrior had. After hearing the familiar clicking of the lock giving, the rogue would leave the chests in front of the bunks before moving onto the next set of two.

Seconds turned into minutes as Warren finished flipping the last mattress from its resting place on a bunk. Giving an annoyed grunt, the man moved to the first set of chests the rogue unlocked. Eying the wooden boxes, he careless dumped the trunks upside down; watching the contents spill to the floor. Shifting his hands through the piles of items that littered the floor, the man meticulously moved onto the next set of chests to continue the trend. He ignored items that would typically get the soldiers in trouble; bottles of booze or women's undergarments. His mind was set on finding anything that alluded to the break in on his home and the assault on the elf. The whispers from the boys against the wall slowly turned louder as he increased his ferocity in searching.

Gritting his teeth in annoyance as another pile held no clues, Warren began to wonder if his hunch was wrong. Perhaps Lena had seen the soldier during a training exercise and not in her own battalion. About to move onto new trunks, the man felt his blood go cold as the sun reflected off something resting in the mound of items. Pushing a couple pieces of parchment off the small item, Warren clenched his jaw shut in deepened rage. Gripping the item in his fist, he turned the chest over to inspect the name it came from.

His adrenaline racing through his body, Warren felt his hands grip into fists as he charged the line of soldiers against the wall. They gave each other uneasy glances as they noticed the enraged look on their commanding officers face. Taking heavy and fast footsteps forward, the warrior let his glare land on one person: Bradley Jonathon.

Reaching the bewildered boy, Warren felt his cheeks go red from anger. Standing inches from the boy's face, the warrior lifted his fist to dangle the item in front of his face. Twisting in the air was Deimos' necklace, bloodied fingerprints on the ruby pendant. His teeth clenched in anger, he addressed Bradley in a deathly whisper. "Where the hell did you get this?"

Eyeing the engraved ruby in his line of vision, the boy let his surprised façade fall; a smirk slowly crossing his features. "I just did what everyone else wanted to do."

Gripping his neck, Warren slammed the insolent boy back against the hardened wall. "Who did you pay?"

His smirk turning into a dark smile, Bradley cocked his head to the side. "Have you gone soft, Commander Steele? Showing mercy for a Horde bastard?"

Feeling his face beat red from anger, the warrior gripped the young man's upper arm as he swung him off the wall. Pushing him towards the group of soldiers, Warren addressed the boy. "You're under arrest, Bradley Jonathon, for conspiracy to assault and attempted murder."

As the guards held vice grips on the boys' arms, Bradley sent a quizzical and darkened face towards the man. "Attempted?"

Sneering at the boy, Warren crossed his arms. "Yes. Lucky for you, he survived."

Watching as the struggling and angry boy was pulled from the barracks, Warren gave a deep and heavy sigh. The room was deathly silent, breathing even seemed to stop. The officer turned to address the stunned soldiers against the wall. "At ease. And clean up this mess."

Moving from his spot, the warrior began to exit the bustling bunkroom. He was mutely aware of a stinging sensation in his closed fist. Raising an eyebrow in surprise, the man opened his clenched hand to reveal the elf's necklace. It was undamaged, the black and white Thalassian symbol on the pendant unscratched. Biting his lip in anger, the man felt some consolation that Bradley was found out. However, being related to Marcus Jonathan, he doubted the boy would be given a fair trial. No; politics would get involved and hinder the law proceedings.

* * *

**Please review!! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Here is chapter ten; just one chapter before the ending. However, I have begun a sequel, and even have a couple chapters written up already for it. I'm not entirely sure when I'll publish that story; if I'll wait a little bit after this one or not. What I can say is that the next story is **so** much darker and emotional than this. Expect chapter 11 on either Friday or Saturday. **

**I gave my own personal spin on several aspects from the original storyline; which I'm sure you'll notice. As always, Blizzards owns all. **

* * *

"Light, this sucks."

Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, Deimos kept his uninterested gaze out the window. The sun had long set, blanketing the city in darkened night. Flamed torches and lampposts illuminated the cobblestoned streets of Old Town, the occasional guard passing by the only evidence to life outside. Squinting in anger at a rat that scurried across the street, Deimos gave an irritated grunt; even the pests of Stormwind were rewarded more freedom.

Tearing his gaze away from the teasing window, the young elf scanned his eyes around the sitting room, contemplating his situation. Warren was in a meeting, which was suspected to last well into the night. Unfortunately Matheus was also required to attend, rendering the paladin grounded to the house. After the attempt on his life a month ago, the Sin'dorei wasn't particularly interested in having a new guard escort him around the city.

Fingering his necklace that lay limp on his neck, Deimos mutely pondered back on the experience with a smirk. Of all people, it was the small mage that had found out his assassin. Small in size, she made up for her petite height with a large heart. He remembered her dashing into his room the day after the attack, jumping on the bed to embrace him in a hug. While he felt awkward at the gesture, the small girl refused to let him go. She was strange; her optimist and cheerful attitude contrasting with his rebellious and defiant one.

A frown replacing the smirk, Deimos shook his head as he recalled the 'trial' – if it was to be called such. The soldier had refused to name the criminals he paid to do the deed. However, he still only received parole and a fine for committing the crime. Traded from Warren's battalion to a different one, it was the only punishment the human boy seemed somewhat distraught about.

The month after the attack had gone by slowly; Deimos spending more time at the training grounds. Though he didn't see the paladin trainer again, the young elf kept thinking back to the comments and critiques the man had given him. Growing up, the elf wasn't allowed much time with the paladin trainers in Silvermoon; instead, his father preferred to train him. While it made him deadly with a blade, Deimos lacked the stamina for holy spells that a well honed paladin had.

Looking outside one last time, the young elf gave an agitated sigh. "Screw this."

Leaving the sitting room, Deimos took the stairs two at a time. Having meditated for a good portion of the morning, the young elf had run out of entertainment. The study offered only a small handful of books, most of which were tremendously boring to the elf. He cleaned what needed it and took a longer bath than he usually would. Still, the paladin found himself bored. Warren had thought ahead, picking up food the day before for the elf to eat. While he was thankful that he wasn't starving waiting for the human's return, Deimos was annoyed at the restless feeling in his stomach.

Taking a left at the top of the stairs, the young elf turned the door knob to Warren's bedroom. He was entering unchartered territory; the room specifically labeled off limits. Completely disregarding it, Deimos pushed the door open to its full ability. The room wasn't much different from his own; prior to the redecorating. Slightly larger, the bed was unmade; sheets and blankets bundled together at the foot of the bed. A pile of dirty clothes rested in the corner, waiting for washing. His footsteps barely making a sound on the wooden floor boards, Deimos began his advance towards the closet in the corner.

Stepping into the small dark room, his green eyes began to scan the numerous pieces of clothing; looking for a certain item. His eyes lighting up at a brown wool cloth folded on top of a pile of pants, Deimos quickly grabbed it and made his way out of the room.

Going down the stairs and entering the foyer, the young elf pulled the wool cloak around himself. Fastening two buttons on the front, he wasn't so much concerned for his comfort that he was for his identity. Pulling the hood over his pointed ears and head, he felt confident in his ability to conceal who he was. Turning the knob to the front door, the elf kept his eyes downcast as a guard passed by. As long as no one saw his unnatural green eyes and his hood stayed up, he knew he'd be fine.

Moving through the deserted and dark streets, the paladin made his way towards the towering fortress in front of him. Warren wouldn't return back to the house for several hours, giving the elf the idea to spend those hours at the training grounds.

Walking up the stoned steps, Deimos unconsciously pulled the hood over his face tighter as a group of soldiers passed by. He knew what he was doing wasn't allowed according to his sentence, but he couldn't sit stagnant in the barren house any longer. Restlessness was a foreign sensation to the young elf; and one that he didn't wish to familiarize himself with.

Reaching the empty training grounds, Deimos gave a smile. He would have the luxury to train in solitude. Though several torches hung on the stoned walls, the young elf didn't particularly need them. His keen eyesight would compensate for the loss of light. Pulling the cloak off himself and tossing it to the side, the Sin'dorei took a blunted sword from the rack. Smiling at the dummy, he took a couple practice swings with the blade. Adrenaline beginning to pump, he felt content and at ease.

* * *

Tapping his quill against the wooden table as the standing night elf droned on, Warren found his attention span waning. A map of Northrend was plastered to the wall, different colored darts marking territories. The meeting had gone on since dawn, several breaks mixed in the day. Sparing a glance at the rogue to his right, Warren watched Matheus' gazed and distant eyes stay focused on the parchment in front of him. Smirking, the warrior knew his mind was elsewhere.

His own mind wandering, Warren mutely pondered what his house guest was doing. Hoping he was most likely taking the day to meditate, the warrior prayed he would stay out of trouble. Less than two months left of his sentence, the man felt a strange sensation begin to pass over him. In three months time, the elf would be gone; most likely back to Silvermoon, and Warren would be in the house alone. While he longed for his solitude at certain times, such as dates with Elly, he felt a small ounce of him thinking he'd miss the young elf. Deimos was annoying, brash, and arrogant; qualities the warrior found to be extremely irritating. But over the past month, the man had grown to rather enjoy the company of the paladin. Shaking his head, Warren blamed the long, monotonous day the reason for his abstract and odd thinking.

Smirking as he watched Matheus' head slowly droop forward and his eyes closed, the warrior gave the young man an elbow to the ribs. Instantly, his head snapped up and eyes popped open. Sending a thankful grin to Warren, the rogue scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. Returning the smile, the warrior knew how the man felt.

* * *

Pulling his sweat soaked shirt over his head, Deimos absently tossed it to the side as he eyed the dummy. Practicing for nearly an hour, the paladin reveled in the high that resulted from the adrenaline rush; his attacks becoming swifter and more pronounced.

Charging the dummy, Deimos advanced his feet forward. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he brought the blade forward into a thrust at his foe. Satisfied when he heard the wood creak in protest at the assault, the paladin took a step back with a grin. His blond hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, the night's breeze sending shivers down his damp upper torso.

"Not bad. Footwork was a lot better."

Heaving a deep and irritated sigh, Deimos let the sword hang limply from his hands as he turned around. Standing behind him was Grayson Shadowbreaker, the paladin trainer he met before. Pulling his own sword from its sheathe, he approached the panting elf a calm smile. "You've been practicing."

Eyeing the man, the young elf nodded his head. "I've been trying."

His gaze moving from the young paladin's face to the abused dummy behind him, the older man stretched an open hand to the elf. "Give me your weapon. I'm going to go through an exercise with you."

Hesitantly and skeptically eyeing the man, Deimos gingerly placed the blunted blade in his hands. He wasn't sure what kind of exercise called for no weapon, but it was vastly different from his usual exercises he partook with his father. Swallowing as the trainer tossed the training sword to the side, he approached the elf with a serene look.

"Your tolerance for using spells is extremely low. You need to build it up if you ever want to progress through your class."

Crossing his arms over his chest, the young elf regarded him with an annoyed look. "And how would I do that?"

"With practice, of course."

About to open his mouth to send a smart retort, Deimos failed to react when the man's sharp sword made a clean slice across his shoulder. The wound was deep, blood beginning to run down the front of his chest. Falling forward on his knees, the young elf brought up his hand to grip the wound while sending confused eyes at the older man. "What the hell?!"

"Heal it."

Taking several deep breaths as the stinging in his shoulder throbbed with each heart beat, the Sin'dorei began to chant the words to Holy Light. Watching with interest above the kneeling elf, Shadowbreaker kept a calm and patient look on his face. As the last words of the spell left the paladin's lips, the wound on his shoulder began to mend itself back together. The heated pain disappeared, the blood stopped flowing. Standing up on two shaky legs, Deimos sent Shadowbreaker a furious glare, fatigue from the healing spell evident in his eyes. "Are you insane? How is that increasing my tolerance?!"

Unexpectedly, the paladin trainer pivoted on his feet with speed to get behind the elf. With precise accuracy, Shadowbreaker stabbed his sword cleanly through his upper shoulder blade, careful not to hit any vital organs. The young elf gave a pained scream, the weapon in his body supporting him from falling forward. Slowly, the older man pulled the blade from his hurting body, vigilant to not antagonize the wound. Holding the boys upper arm to help support him, Shadowbreaker looked into his pained features.

"Heal."

Clenching his eyes in pain, Deimos lifted a hand up to the gaping hole in his shoulder. His blood seeped through his clenched fingers, spilling over his bare chest. Exhausted from the other spell, the young elf mutely shook his head. "I can't… mana…"

"You're mana is fine. Now heal."

His chest heaving from pain and gasping breaths, the younger paladin began to move his mouth, the enchanted words leaving his lips. Pausing several times to force his mind to cooperate for him, Deimos became aware of the energy leaving his body as he approached the ending of the spell. The wound was significantly worse than the previous, making him doubt his ability to heal such a gash. As the last word left his mouth, the elf felt the hole close up and exhaustion set in. Opening his eyes in anger at the paladin trainer, Deimos directed his rage at the older man. "Is this the _only_ exercise to build up tolerance?"

Pulling a small dagger with remarkable speed from his inner pocket, Shadowbreaker slammed it into the younger elf's bicep, roughly pulling to down. Screaming shamefully when he felt the pointed blade tear his muscles and tendons from the bone, Deimos felt like his arm was detached from the rest of his body. Torn muscles shrieked in pain, the jagged wound pulsing in agony. Nausea rolled over his body as the elf felt the blade leave his arm.

"Heal."

Shaking his head furiously at the man while regarding him with an unbelievable look. "I get your… point. I understand. I can't… heal though. I have no energy."

Gripping his hand on the swaggering elf, Shadowbreaker gave his calm voice a firmer tone. "Deimos, heal it."

His eyes watering at the pain, the young paladin shook his head. He knew his body; there was hardly any mana left for him to draw on. If he had a potion or fel crystal, he would have no problem complying with the trainer's request. "I-I… I can't."

"Heal!"

The loud and hard voice made Deimos acutely aware of the situation. Vainly holding the throbbing arm, the young elf began to chant the words for the third time that night. He didn't expect it to work; his energy was far too low. Still gripping one of the elf's shoulders, Shadowbreaker watched with calmness as the words left Deimos' lips. His green eyes were shut in pain, his face grimacing while he whispered the chant. Hearing the last bit leave his mouth, the older man moved forward, knowing full well what the spell would do.

The muscles repairing the rough onslaught they received, Deimos felt fatigue consume his body as the sides of his vision turned black. No strength left to support himself, he stumbled forward into strong arms. Unconsciousness threatened to overcome him, the young elf forced his worn body to stay coherent. His eyes moving over a calm face in front of him, he sent an angry and tired gaze at the older man.

Easily supporting the elf's light weight, Shadowbreaker half dragged him to the wall. Feeling his body being propped up against the wall, Deimos tilted his head back against it. The cool stone soothed his sweating body. Though he was utterly exhausted, he was proud at the lack of wounds riddling his body due to his healing.

About to give in to the exhaustion, Deimos felt a flask placed against his lips. Instinctively, he turned his head to the side. A strong hand on his chin held his head in place, a firm voice addressing him. "Drink."

The hand on his jaw tightening, the young elf reluctantly complied. The taste of spring water filled his mouth slowly, the liquid welcoming to his dry mouth.

Tilting the flask slowly and carefully, Shadowbreaker kept his grasp on the young elf's jaw to ensure stability. Satisfied when Deimos began to actually drink the liquid, he watched as energy slowly seeped back into the boy's body. Eyes cracked open to reveal green ones, the older man removed the flask and his grip from the boy.

"Is that how you train all of your paladins?"

His tranquil face breaking into a grin, the trainer sat beside the panting elf against the wall. "Not usually but you needed to know your true limits. As you can see, you have more tolerance than you thought."

Smirking at the man, Deimos blinked tiredly. "Yeah but look at me. I wouldn't be able to continue fighting after that."

Passing the half filled flask to the young elf, Shadowbreaker gave him a patient look. "This is practice. Eventually, you will be able to heal and cast holy attacks back to back with ease."

Lifting a skeptical eyebrow at the man, the younger paladin downed the rest of the water in the flask, reveling at the replenishment of energy that it seemed to bring. Looking sideways at the trademark calm expression on the man's face, the young elf mutely wondered if this was how _real_ paladin's were trained.

* * *

Glancing down at a long list of names on a piece of parchment, the orc shifted the large mace on his back. Giving a sigh of impatience, he glanced around his surroundings. Quietly gliding through the water, the wooden ship made its way towards the lit harbor lights fast approaching. Rows of soldiers sat on the deck, inspecting weapons and drinking battle elixirs. Hunters fed their beast's raw meat, checking their delicate teeth and claws for any imperfections. The ship was deathly silent; the only noise coming from the water rippling beneath them. Though he couldn't see them due to the darkness, the orc knew that four other ships moved in the water with him. Each ship harboring two hundred soldiers each, the orc general felt a smile slip across his face; with such grand numbers, failure was impossible. The blood elf would be killed; along with the king and the others that knew about the planned assassination.

Stuffing the list into a pocket beneath his plate armor, the warrior turned from the approaching lights in the harbor to a single lantern on a pole next to him. His yellow eyes trained back on the harbor, he brought his hand up to light the lantern. The yellow glow illuminated the orc's green face, a dark smirk on his features. Glancing around, he was rewarded with seeing four other lanterns on blackened ships follow suit; signaling they were ready for the impending assault.

The rows of soldiers, mixed with tauren, orc, undead, and trolls, began to silently stand in preparation for the raid on the city. Adrenaline was high, sharpened blades gripped in hand. The sound of movement below deck confirmed to the general the canons were being put in place. Archers drew their strong bows at the ready, quivers packed full of arrows, as they lined the side of the ship. Torches were struck, the yellow and red flames illuminating the decks and its inhabitants. Grim and expressionless faces decorated the soldiers on the ship, their fists opening and closing in anticipation. Flying high above the wooden deck was a flag; a blood red background behind the black Horde insignia.

In view and range of Stormwind's harbor, the general heard yelling and screams coming from the human soldiers stationed at the well-fortified harbor. Though he couldn't pick up on the words being screamed, he had a general idea of what it was. Most likely alerting the soldiers manning the cannons, the orc smirked; it would all be in vain. A small group of rogues had already disposed of the men and disarmed the cannons, rendering their best defense against the ships useless.

"_Lok'tar ogar!_" (**Victory or Death!**)

The soldiers on the ship gave a loud cry in response to the general's battle cry, their sharpened and shining weapons hoisted in the air with excitement. Watching with amused eyes as the humans began to run around the harbor in a panic, he was pleased when he saw the first canon leave the ship with malice. Smashing into a fortified wall, the stone broke from the mold. Watching with satisfaction as a large piece of the wall smashed several humans under its immense weight, the general smirked. More canons went off; following the same fashion as the first. The sister ships released their own ranged assaults on the harbor, relishing in the destruction that followed.

Grinning as a man shrieked in pain from a piece of debris lodged through his midsection, the general gave a hand signal to the archers. Pulling sharpened arrows from the leather quivers resting on their backs, the soldiers took aim and fired at the Alliance soldiers that attempted to get into boats to reach them. Some lighting the tips of the projectiles with a flame from the torches, the orc grinned darkly as he watched the lit arrows embed themselves in wooden wagons and tents.

A loud explosion was followed by seven more, well placed dynamite by the rogues exploding along the wall. Debris and rock showered the alarmed and fearful humans below, their piercing screams pleading for a miracle that wouldn't come. The orc deepened his smile as the smell of burning flesh and smoke filled his nostrils. Unable to tear his gaze away as he watched a human soldier run around in a panic, large flames dancing from his chest, the warrior shook his head at the spectacle. The raid was going smoothly.

Screams of pain and misery filled the dark night as Stormwind harbor was meticulously destroyed. Feeling the ship pull up to the side of the harbor, the orc gave a brisk hand signal. Soldiers carried large planks of wood, positioning them methodically at an angle. The archers never slowed their assaults, taking down any enemy that dared to get to close with a piercing arrow in the chest. The planks in position, the Horde soldiers began to file off the ship with amazing speed; weapons drawn and determined looks on their faces.

* * *

"So, why did you decide to become a paladin and not a warrior?"

Leaning his bare back against the stoned wall, Deimos felt a chill run up his spine. Unsure of what the cause was, the young elf dismissed it as the cold stone and night. His energy restored from resting and drinking the trainer's flask of water, the elf eyed the dummy across from him. He was ready for round two.

Giving a shrug, he glanced at Shadowbreaker. "My older cousin was a paladin. I used to watch him train a lot. And," the elf paused, a foreboding feeling setting into his stomach. He wasn't sure what his body was trying to tell him but he really wished it would desist. "It was a small battle won against my father. He wanted his only son to be a warrior, like him, and I…"

Stopping in his thoughts as alarms set off in his head, the young elf shook his head, trying to will his senses under control. The paladin trainer took the gesture as part of his response. "You wanted a say in something in your life."

Brows together, Deimos gave a small nod. His heart was beating madly in his chest, an uneasy sensation in his stomach. His face clouded with concern, the elf stood up to glance around the training area. Swallowing hard, his green eyes confirmed the deserted area. Still, the apprehension continued to flood his senses; trying to warn him of something.

Shadowbreaker, seeing the distressed look on the young elf's face, slowly brought himself to his feet. "Deimos, what's wrong?"

Opening his mouth to respond, a large and resonating explosion filled the night air. Nearly a beat later, a second followed; shaking the stoned ground beneath their feet with each boom. Instinctively pushing the young elf behind him, Shadowbreaker stood in front of Deimos as he tried to place the location of the attack. Fearing for the worse, he turned his trained eyes towards the direction of the Keep.

"What the hell is that?!" Deimos exclaimed, his wide eyes scanning around. His senses seemed to still themselves, apprehension being replaced with adrenaline and curiosity.

Another explosion sounded the air as Shadowbreaker shook his head at the elf. "I don't know. I can't tell where it's coming from."

Both paladins were taken back as a furious fireball erupted in the sky. Screams and shouts resounded throughout the city, soldiers running through Old Town in a controlled manner. Pulling his discarded shirt on over his head, the elf's keen hearing picked up on distant screams and cries of agony moving closer.

Another ball of fire exploding in the distance, the two paladins rushed out of the training grounds and into the streets of Old Town. Citizens stood outside of their homes, confused and anxious faces looking around. Soldiers and guards continued to run towards the canals, swords drawn at the ready.

Seeing a guard jog by them, Shadowbreaker gestured him over. "What's going on?"

Swallowing, the soldier tried futilely to catch his breath, his eyes glancing over the blood elf nervously. "Horde, sir. They've leveled the harbor. I barely got away with my life."

Opening his mouth to ask another question, the paladin trainer was cut off by the elf's angry voice. "How many are blood elves?"

Shifting on his feet nervously, the soldier blinked. "I don't remember seeing any."

Shrieks of pain caused the three men to lift their heads up in surprise. The noise was significantly closer; alluding to the advancement of the attack. In the distance, thick black smoke filled the night sky, the bright embers of fire reaching to the heavens. The smell of smoldering skin and death clung to the air. The soldier, giving a brisk nod to the paladin trainer, turned on his heels and continued his trek.

"C'mon!"

Gripping the elf's shoulder hard, Shadowbreaker ran back towards the training grounds. Taking a swift left, Deimos mutely noticed they were headed to the Command Center; a place he was never allowed. Soldiers of young and old and both genders began to rush out the barracks; weapons in hand. They seemed to ignore the blood elf and human trying to make their way into the structure.

"Shadowbreaker, you have to let me fight. They're here to kill me," Deimos pleaded as they stopped in front of a rack of weapons. The older man removed his two handed sword for a one handed blade. Placing it on the sheathe resting on his hips, he proceeded to equip a plated shield on his back.

"Pick a weapon," Shadowbreaker's calm and serene voice responded.

Eyeing the man curiously, the young elf turned his attention to the weapons resting on the wall. His eyes landing on a long two handed sword, the Sin'dorei gripped the hilt in his hands. Eyeing the sharpened blade with interest, he sent a skeptical gaze at the older man. "You're ok with this?"

The sounds of clashing swords drew their attention to the doorway. "We won't be able to access the armory. You'll have to go without armor."

Nodding at the man, the situation wasn't foreign to the elf. He had trained with his father as such for majority of his life. Giving the long sword a couple test swings, the young elf grinned at the prospect of the fight.

Taking a deep sigh, the paladin trainer turned to the younger elf with a determined look in his eye. "We need to get to the Keep."

* * *

Slashing the throat of a hunter open, Warren spun expertly on his feet to bring his sword up in a deflect. The orc was strong, pushing his blade threateningly against the older man's. Gritting his teeth, the human sidestepped to the left; satisfied when the orc took an unbalanced step forward. With swift accuracy, the man slammed the blade through the midsection of the creature; watching as its entails bulged through the gaping hole. Not being able to revel in his small victory, the warrior immediately went to the next enemy to dispose off. His muscles began to ache in pain and fatigue from the constant onslaught. Disarming a warlock's staff from its hands, Warren sliced the throat of the troll open, not bothering to watch it fall forward while choking on its own blood.

The Keep was an utter mess. The fight initiating outside the fortress, the brawl advanced to the throne room; Warren's current location. The King was guarded in a side room, armed guards and soldiers surrounding the man. When the attack had commenced the sovereign had been tucked further in the Keep for safety. However, the Horde had somehow managed to infiltrate the fortified castle from the back entrance undetected; filling the once secure halls. The safest place for their king was in the middle of the brawl. Priests kept constant shields on the man; at the ready to provide healing spells if need be.

Disposing of a priest by slicing his throat open, Warren gave a sigh as he looked down the long and narrow hall leading up to the throne room. A mix of Horde and Alliance soldiers filled the area, cries of pain and anger echoing off the walls. The stone on the floor, once a polished white hue, shone with red liquid marking its surface. Bodies littered the ground, lifeless eyes looking up at those fighting.

Turning to face an undead mage, the older man felt its staff slam against his face. Forcing his vision to focus on his foe, Warren's body erupted in pain as the mage released a burst of arcane magic. Stumbling backwards, the warrior was quick to shrug the pain off. Paying heed to such thoughts would cost him his life. Charging the mage with speed that seemed to take it off guard, the man was quick to thrust the already bloodied blade into the cloth armored enemy. Watching as the undead fell to the ground with a thud, Warren glanced around himself in dismay. While the amount of Horde bodies was more than Alliance, their numbers didn't seem to be dwindling.

* * *

Jumping back with ease as his enemy attempted to slice a dagger across his chest, Deimos looked into the undead's face in anger. Smirking at the blood elf, the rogue tried again to follow up with a stabbing motion into his unarmored body. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, the young elf expertly avoided the attack. Bringing his sword up in a deadly slice across his foe's neck, the paladin gritted his teeth in anger as the rogue easily sidestepped the attack. While his attacks were well aimed, Deimos had tremendous trouble trying to match the speed and dexterity the rogue possessed. Willing his body to increase its haste, the young elf brought his sword to the left in an attempt at a side slice across the leathered clad chest. The undead was prepared however; easily dodging the assault while bring up a dagger to disarm the elf. Hissing in pain, Deimos felt the tip of the rogue's blade enter his wrist. His hands unable to support the weight of the sword, his fingers released their grip on the hilt.

Smirking at the pained expression on the elf, the undead was satisfied when the blade clattered to the ground. Lifting a blood dripping dagger to finish the battle, the rogue grinned at the paladin.

Knowing he'd have to revert to hand to blade combat, Deimos lifted his uninjured hand up in an effort to defend himself. Preparing to grab the undeads' wrist, the young elf was surprised when the rogue stopped in his tracks, a look of horror on his features. Falling forward to the ground on his face, Deimos lifted a surprised brow at the action. A dagger was nestled in between the undeads' shoulder blades. Lifting his eyes up as a hand pulled out the dagger lodged in the lifeless body, Deimos gave a quick smirk at his savior.

"It seems your Horde friends don't like you very much, kid," Matheus said as he grinned at the young elf, eyeing the bleeding wrist.

"Thanks, I didn't notice."Glancing to the sides at the battle raging around them in the passage in the Keep, Deimos turned determined eyes back to the rogue. "I need you to cover me while I heal."

Turning his back to the young elf, the man gave a chuckle as he eyed the enemies surrounding them with mirth; daggers twirling in his hands with anticipation. "With pleasure."

Whispering the holy chant, Deimos turned his own back to the turned rogue. Feeling the man behind him tense up as he prepared to enter combat, the elf eyed an orc slash his blade cleanly through a dwarf's neck; severing the head from the rest of the body with a smirk. The orc turned his yellow eyes towards Deimos, the two making eye contact. Cradling his bleeding wrist against his body, the paladin tensed his body as the green figure made its way over to him. Increasing the speed of the chant, the Sin'dorei heard Matheus engage in a battled behind him, daggers clashing against a polearm.

A broad sword swinging at the elf's exposed chest, Deimos paused in his chanting to duck from the deadly blade. Stepping to the side, the elf glanced at his discarded sword on the stone, several feet from his current position. The orc quickly rebounded from the failed attack, swinging his sword with strength and precision. Rolling out of the massive creatures' attack, the blood elf resumed his healing chant. Sidestepping a stab to his left, Deimos noticed the feign too late. Hissing in pain as the sword sliced his right side, the elf threw his body to the ground to grab his sword resting feet away. Finishing up the chant as he hit the stone, the paladin felt his wrist and side wound mend itself together. Not paying much heed to the inevitable tiredness that resulted, the young elf stretched is arm out in an effort to reach the sword.

As his fingers began to grip the hilt, a large boot stepped on his forearm, pressing down with malice. Turning his gaze up, the Sin'dorei met the gaze of the orc and the tip of the blade that was pointed at his throat. The orc smirked as he glared down at the young elf, pulling his arm back to lodge the weapon into the paladin's chest. The boot on his arm rendering him unable to escape, Deimos stared at his opponent with surprise.

A glimmering blade whipped across the exposed skin behind the orc's knees, his tendons being cut by the weapon and coiling up into his legs. Screaming, the green figure fell forward, his weapon falling from his hands. His shriek of pain was cut short as a dagger was lodged through the back of his throat, the cry being replaced with the sound of gurgling blood. Life leaving the orc's eyes, he fell forward next to the elf. Moving his eyes up, Deimos was surprised to see an outstretched hand offered to him.

"Sorry, got a little sidetracked with a hunter. Damn pets," Matheus smirked as he pulled the paladin to his feet with ease. Eyeing the sword resting in Deimos' hands, he gave the elf a grin. "Heal went well?"

Rolling his eyes, Deimos turned his back to the rogue, eyeing the battle raging around them. "Would have been better without the orc."

Smirking with a shake of his head, Matheus placed his own back against the elf's, gripping his bloodied daggers. "Hey, better late than never, right?"

Grinning at the comment, the paladin slashed his blade at a troll; his blade meeting an axe. The lack of response from behind him confirmed that Matheus had entered his own battle. Kicking the tall troll in the abdomen with a grunt, the paladin was satisfied when his enemy was momentarily knocked off guard. Not wasting any time, he thrust his sword into the troll's neck. Pulling out the blade in time to deflect the swing from another sword, Deimos feigned a slice to the undead's legs, following up with a stab to the exposed skin on its side. The Forsaken easily parried, swinging his own blade in an attempt to slice the elf's neck open. Deflecting the attack, the young elf brought his blade in a downward slice to his enemy's chest. Irritated at the blocked attack, Deimos gritted his teeth.

"I'm hearing a lot of clashing back there," Matheus' voice came from behind the elf; the human's back still up against his own. "Need help?"

A small grin spreading on his features, Deimos tried another assault on the undead. "Just concentrate on your own fight."

"Did you come alone to the Keep?"

Annoyed at how long the skirmish was taking, Deimos decided to try different tactic. Quickly rotating the sword in his hands, the young elf thrust the hilt in to the neck of the undead. Momentarily stunned at the attack, his enemy instinctively brought a hand up to his throat. Seizing the chance to end the undead's life and battle, Deimos swiftly sliced his sword across the figures neck. Eyeing the decapitated body blankly, the paladin gave a sigh. "I was with Shadowbreaker but he said something about reinforcements and we got separated."

Glancing around himself, Deimos felt his heart sink to his stomach. The amount of soldiers bearing the Horde insignia heavily outweighed those wearing the blue and gold one. A familiar feeling washing over him, the young elf knew he had been in the same situation before. Four years prior during the raid on Stormwind, he cut down the same race he was fighting for; the same race he owed his life to multiple times. Fighting for his life in the Keep wasn't a new experience for him; the enemies, however, had changed. His green eyes darting around at the obvious outnumbering, the paladin gritted his teeth. If he would die, it would be with honor and weapon in hand.

"Well, we could really use his reinforcement's right about now."

Gripping his sword in his bloodied hands, Deimos frowned as more Horde soldiers enclosed them; weapons taking the lives of the Alliance soldiers fighting them. "Are you still offering that help?"

Matheus, his own gaze frantically eyeing the onslaught, shook his head at the question. He felt the paladin's back against his own heave with each breath, obviously beginning to feel the fatigue from the night's ongoing battle. "This isn't looking very good, kid."

Swallowing hard at the tone the rogue's voice carried, Deimos had a similar thought. Setting his jaw, the young elf lifted his sword up with determination. "For honor."

Clenching his twin daggers in his tired hands, the man felt a surge of adrenaline and resolve fill his body. "It was good fighting with you, kid. For honor."

Preparing to throw himself into the mob of fierce Horde soldiers, Deimos glanced down at his boots with a confused face. His feet going instantly cold, the paladin watched with interested eyes as the blood covered floor around him lit up with a glowing blue. Realizing what it was, he quickly turned around to focus his attention on the rogue; who also faced the paladin with questioning eyes. Drawing on all the energy and mana his body possessed, Deimos concentrated on forming a holy shield around himself and Matheus.

A second after the air surrounding the two turned opaque, shards of ice slammed into the floor around them. Sharpened pieces lodged themselves into the unprepared Horde soldiers, the raining assault showing no mercy for those in its path. Keeping his focus on the shields that slowly drained his energy, Deimos whipped his head around looking for the source of the attack. The deadly shower continued to fall, the once large number of surrounding enemies swiftly dwindling. His eyes finding the supplier of the assailment, Deimos felt a smile go across his face.

Standing paces behind the aerial attack, Lena had her arms extended above her as she conjured the blizzard that destroyed the soldiers. Meeting Deimos' gaze, her blue eyes lit up; a smile plastering itself across her face. Amazed at the small gnome's feat, the paladin nodded his head forward in thanks to the small girl; he owed his life to her.

The ground beneath him turning back to its blood spilled color, the paladin stopped focusing on the shields. His energy was nearly gone, the fatigue in his body evident from the action. He knew that without proper rest or potions, healing would be close to impossible. His eyes roaming the lifeless bodies surrounding him, Deimos felt his confidence build up to vast heights. Sparing a glance at Matheus, the paladin smirked at the grin on the rogues face. The man tauntingly spun his weapons in his hands as he eyed the downed Horde.

"And you were ready to throw in the towel."

Rolling his eyes at the human, the elf turned his attention at the battle he heard taking place further up the passage in the Keep. Though they had a small victory, thanks to the gnome, he knew it was far from over.

* * *

Pulling his sword out of the priest, Warren quickly wiped the blood and sweat rolling down his face. Glancing to the right, he scowled as he watched the king slice the midsection of a troll open, its innards spilling onto the stone. The Horde soldiers had rushed the throne room, engaging the king's guards and priests in combat. Wrynn, unable to stand by useless, removed his own sword from its sheathe; he would fight with his people. Swallowing hard as the warrior glanced around himself, he knew the battle was going sour. His sovereign being forced to take up arms, the Horde had maneuvered the Alliance into a vulnerable position. Gritting his teeth when he felt a dagger scrap his side, the older man knew that while reinforcements would be on their way, he wasn't sure if it would be in time.

Turning around to dispose of the rogue, Warren lifted surprised brows at the foe. The tip of a sword sticking through its abdomen, the troll began to spit up blood over its chin. The lifeless body being tossed to the side, the older man felt a grin spread on his face. Holding a bloodied sword, Deimos smirked back at the warrior. His shirt was torn, gashes and cuts marring his unarmored body. Sweat and blood soaked his face, plastering his hair against his forehead.

Eyeing the elf with interest, Warren gave a smirk at him. "I thought I told you to stay at home."

Rolling his eyes at the man, Deimos turned to scan the overrun room. "You can lecture me later." He paused, turning his questioning green eyes at the older man. "What do you think?"

Clenching his jaw as a crowd of Horde soldiers rushed the throne room, weapons glistening with shed blood, Warren shifted the plate armor on his chest in preparation. "I think you already know."

Nodding at the man, the paladin charged a warlock preparing to unleash a bolt of shadow magic into the king's back. Slamming the undead into the wall, the young elf lifted his sword up to thrust it into his opponent's abdomen. He felt a brief grasp on his shoulder before being thrown backwards against the opposite wall, his back making contact with the hard stone. Sword falling from his grasp, Deimos lifted his gaze up in surprise and curiosity at the unsuspected assault. His eyes scanning the room for the source of the attack, the paladin felt his blood run cold. Stalking towards him was a felguard, its heavy axe in hand, determination in each of its steps.

Rolling to the side as the large axe slammed into the ground where his neck used to be, Deimos gave a sigh of relief when he felt his fingers grip a sword lodged in a soldier's chest. Pulling it from the lifeless body, the paladin brought the blade up in time to parry the felguards' attack. The warlock's minion, having vastly more strength than the young elf, propelled the elf backwards as their weapons met. Landing hard on his back, the Sin'dorei felt a thick hand grip his throat, lifting him from the floor. Struggling for breath, the minion threw him against the wall; the stones cracking at the immense strength the felguard used. Stumbling forward, Deimos felt like his body got trampled by tauren. His head was pounding from the contact it made with the stone, blood beginning to rush down his back.

Watching as the felguard patiently walked towards him, Deimos ran his eyes over the room. Matheus was struggling with two warriors he tried to take on at once, an arrow lodged in his upper thigh hindering his attacks. It would only be a matter of time before he made a mistake; a deadly one. Hearing a scream, the young elf turned his head in time to see a tauren slice Warren's side open with its sword. Though blood began to pour from the fatal wound, the warrior didn't slow his onslaught. He would die fighting. Glancing at the king, Wrynn didn't seem to be fairing any better. Four Horde soldiers corned the king, the man trying in vain to keep up with the attacks. Shaking his head, the paladin knew the Horde were simply delaying the inevitable. Movement to his left caught his attention as he turned his gaz. Walking backwards with her staff drawn, Lena had a glowing blue shield surrounding herself. Panting from the loss of mana and energy, the small girl could only defend herself against the warrior in front of her with the staff.

Gritting his teeth in anger, Deimos pulled a small dagger nestled into a downed human's chest out. Fingering the hilt, he kept trained eyes on the felguard that approached him. Swallowing hard, the elf kept his weight on the balls of his feet while he got ready for the onslaught.

The felguard didn't disappoint, charging the elf with impressive speed. But Deimos was prepared, lifting an arm up to block the axe swinging down towards his body. Feeling the axe easily embed itself into his bones, the paladin used all of his self-reserve to follow through with the planned attack. Thrusting the dagger into the minion's chest, he gave it a sickening twist. Emitting a pained shout, the felguard dropped its immense weapon to the ground with a clatter. Ignoring the screaming pain his arm had, the paladin charged the stunned and hurting minion against the wall with a thud. Watching as the life left its eyes, Deimos brought the dagger up with precision and speed to slash across the demon's neck. Holding the larger creature in place against the wall, the young elf swallowed hard as he watched the thick stream of blood seep from the wound on its neck. A million warning bells went off in his head as he waited for the demon's blood to increase its flow. Taking a deep breath, Deimos brought his head to the crook of the felguard's neck, his mouth encircling the deep wound. Sucking the gushing blood generously, the elf felt his body erupt in pleasure. Blood pumped faster with a high from the demonic blood, his mana addiction no longer on his mind. Swallowing the blood in copious amounts, the paladin felt strength he never experience before, his muscles twitching in anticipation and power. Energy flowed through the elf's body; he never felt such a high in his short life. Increasing his grip on the minion's shoulders, Deimos drank the felguards blood furiously.

* * *

The sides of his vision turning black, Warren knew his end was fast approaching. He ached, the deadly slice to his body seeping blood down his ruined armor. His feet were beginning to not cooperate with him, his movements becoming lethargic and clumsy. Fatigue and unconsciousness threatened to take over, the warrior knew it would mean death. Though his demise was inevitable, the man felt little sadness from the idea. Instead, he was furious at himself for failing to protect his king. Sending a quick glance as Wrynn took an axe to his shoulder blade, the man felt the battle was coming to an angry end. His sword falling loose in his grip, he fell forward hard on his knees from fatigue.

Closing his eyes briefly, the warrior could no longer hold back the death that loomed over him. As his coherence began to leave his senses, an enormous amount of unusual energy filled the man. Snapping his eyes open, he felt his hands grip his sword stronger. Glancing down at himself, Warren was amazed as he watched the fatal wounds mend themselves together; the pain completely gone. He lifted his head up to try to find the healer that saved him. Surprise filled his body as he noticed the air around him turn an off white color, alluding to the shield that was placed around his body. Unsure what was going on, the warrior felt the breath leave his lungs as he glanced at the source.

Walking calmly to the middle of the room, Deimos lifted his arms up as his casted a spell. Instantly, an immense burst of holy energy emitted from his body, impaling the enemy soldiers not protected by the shields he placed on the Alliance. Energy and mana seemed unending to the paladin, who easily focused shields and healing spells on the hurt humans. Noticing that he no longer needed to mouth the chants for the spells to commence, the young elf reveled in his new found power. Directing his focus on all of the undead soldiers in the room, Deimos pulled mana from his body to send a bolt of exorcism at them. The powerful attack killed the Forsaken on contact, their lifeless bodies falling to the floor with a thud. Smirking at the ruthless attack, the young elf glanced around himself at the remaining Horde. There were several dozen left, each picking themselves off the floor from the elf's earlier attack that knocked them off their feet. Taking a deep breath, Deimos sought to end the battle mercilessly. The ground under the paladin's feet began to glow with malice, his mind focused on a new attack. A golden glow enveloped the room, the once blood covered ground lighting up with power. Still keeping the strong shields around the Alliance soldiers, Deimos felt the stone beneath him shake as it filled with holy energy. The Horde soldiers glanced down at the glowing floor, horror and revulsion etched on their features as realization set in. Bringing an arm up in front of him, the paladin increased the consumption of mana from his body to power the strong attack. With the blink of an eye, the ground erupted into a blinding light, those not shielded also taking on a slight glow to their forms. Holy energy entered the bodies of the Horde, their pain-filled screams echoing off the stone walls. Dropping his arm to his side, Deimos watched in satisfaction as the screams stopped; the remaining Horde soldiers fell to the ground with lifeless eyes.

Swallowing as he looked around, the king was utterly surprised at the room. Standing up from his laying position, he assumed himself dead from the rush of Horde. Receiving numerous fatal wounds to his body, Wrynn didn't expect to survive to see the reinforcements. He was taken back when he felt his pain filled wounds heals, his energy revive itself. His eyes resting on the sole person standing in the middle of the room, the king cocked his head to the side as he regarded Deimos with a curious look. Hearing the sound of running coming into the room, the king turned his attention to the Alliance soldiers.

Warren, glancing around the room, was taken back at the sight. All the Horde soldiers littered the stone ground, their dead eyes looking up at him. Roaming his eyes over the young elf standing still, the warrior was unable to see his face; his back to the man. Swallowing hard, he reached a shaky hand to the paladin's shoulder. Turning the boy around, Warren pulled his hand back in horror at Deimos' face. Blood painted his mouth, the dried liquid covering his chin.

Sending his eyes downcast at the man's disgusted glare, Deimos took in a large gulp of air. His high came crashing down as realization of what he did set in. He immediately forgot the feeling of the power, shame and guilt replacing it. "I… I…"

Feeling movement next to him, the warrior turned to the king's curious face. "Reinforcements have arrived. They're outside the Keep." Turning a glance at the elf's distraught face, Wrynn cocked his head to the side. "What happened?"

Lifting his clouded green eyes towards a spot on the wall, the two humans turned to inspect the site. Lying in a heap against the wall, its blood spilling out beneath it, was a felguard. Watching dread sweep over the young elf's features, Warren sent a look to Wrynn. "My King, perhaps you should wait in the side room with guards."

His gray eyes roaming the elf's distant look in his eyes, the sovereign gave a small nod at the hidden meaning behind the request. Moving to discuss the situation with the human soldiers that filed into the room, weapons ready, the king figured he'd hear from Warren later.

"What did I do?" A small whisper sounded, pulling Warren's attention to Deimos; his eyes still focused on the ground. Terror and disgust were etched on his features, sharply contrasting to the confident elf that released strong holy energy only minutes earlier. The man had a clue for the elf's abrupt change in attitude. While drinking demonic blood allowed the Sin'dorei to quell their mana thirst significantly, it also increased their addiction; leading to becoming one of the Wretched. The consumption of demonic blood was viewed as a horrendous taboo in Silvermoon.

Unsure how to respond to the boy, Warren glanced around himself. The reinforcements checked the status of the downed soldiers; making sure the Horde were dead and hoping the Alliance were alive. Matheus was leaning against a wall, holding a discussion with an officer from the reinforcements, arms gesturing around the room. Turning his gaze back to the young elf, Warren felt his emotions switch gears. Looking into green tear-filled eyes, the warrior was taken back by the horrified look on Deimos' face. He looked lost and confused, his gaze roaming Warren's as if looking for an answer. Though he fought like a seasoned warrior, Deimos' face gave away to the youth he truly was.

Not sure what to say to the boy, Warren did the first response that came to mind. Moving forward, he wrapped his arms around the young elf's shoulders into an embrace. At first, the warrior felt he made a mistake in his action; Deimos standing rigid at the movement. A beat passed, however, and Warren became aware of arms returning the embrace. Feeling the elf's body shake under him, the older man just stood still. However unfamiliar he was to the action, Warren felt he was in the right place.

* * *

**Please review! **


	11. Epilogue

**Here it is: the last installment to the story. It has been so much fun writing this piece! All the wonderful reviews, and even those readers that didn't leave one, have really kept me going and helped tremendously! Because I made the epilogue kind of short, I've included a little "teaser" for my sequel. I'm hoping to get it live soon; but I'm not going to say any dates because I'm not really sure. I'm working on chapter four right now for the sequel, so I may even publish it tomorrow. Or maybe next week. Hee hee. **

**I can't thank everyone enough for reading and supporting my writing with your generous words. Thank you so much for the motivation! **

**And Blizzard owns everything.... **

* * *

Moving through the stoned hallways, the man kept his gaze evenly forward as he passed guards stationed around the fortress. His heavy boots landed on the marble ground, the footsteps bouncing off the walls with a deafening echo. The passage, save the guards, was barren from others; leaving the man to muse in his thoughts in peace as he swiftly moved towards his destination with determination. Turning to the right to cross under an archway, the broken stone jutting out at unnatural angles, the man gave a sigh at the evidence of the unexpected raid just three days prior.

Hearing the faint pounding of mallets in the distance, Warren knew the citizens of Stormwind were furiously trying to rebuild their destroyed city. The harbor had been annihilated from the assault; the fires and destruction rendering the area nearly unusable. Trade would be difficult to execute with the limited use of the waterway; making the reconstruction of the human city all the more challenging. The neighborhoods of Stormwind, while not as devastated as the harbor, had been ravaged from the Horde. Houses were burned to the ground; women and children crying in the streets while they helplessly watched their homes collapse. Following the horrid night, many families found themselves homeless; taking to the inns if they could fit or, in some drastic situations, the streets to sleep. The days following the assault were hot and humid, making the smell of rotting flesh reach all the corners of the city. The Cathedral of Light had been attacked, though the damage was minimal and easily reversible. Walking through the passages of the Keep, Warren gave a sigh at the thought of its state. The hall leading up to the throne room was destroyed; the marbled floor and walls covered in smeared blood and weapon gouges. The throne room had been razed. Blood layered the once white stone, the Alliance flag ripped into pieces. Though restoration was already occurring for the Keep, it would take longer for the emotional scars to mend.

Pausing outside an iron door, Warren stopped to glance at the two soldiers standing guard on either side of it. He had a feeling of déjà vu, having been in a similar situation the day of the elf's trial when he retrieved him. Leaning forward towards the door slightly, the man was relieved to hear silence on the other end. Indeed, it wasn't the case the other day.

Three days ago, Deimos had informed Warren that he needed to be locked up. The man was perplexed at the request; the young elf had saved not only himself but the King of Stormwind from the Horde. Being locked away in a dingy cell was hardly the appreciation the warrior had in mind. However, the young elf seemed adamant on the decision; his begging voice making Warren's skin crawl. Deimos gave the man detailed instructions; to keep him locked in the cell for three days time and to not open the door, no matter the elf said or did. The king also seemed rather uncomfortable with the strange request; his skeptical and questioning eyes had encouraged the elf to enlighten them on the reason. Deimos, shame clouding his face, had told the men that he needed to detoxify his body from the demon blood that made his addiction go mad. Warren, still not sold on the idea of locking the paladin away in a cell, had suggested that he simply sit in his room at the house for three days. The young elf had shaken his head furiously, his green eyes flashing with warning. He needed a fortified room; and one where his begs wouldn't tempt someone to open the door. However much reluctant the man was, Warren had heeded to the elf's request. Placing only water in the grimy cell with Deimos, the warrior had watched the soldiers turn the key in the padlock with disappointment. He had hoped to offer the young elf a more appreciative gesture for his noble actions; not treat him like a criminal. The warrior had returned the second day of the elf's isolation, hoping that perhaps three days was an exaggerated timeframe. The elf was right though. When he heard Deimos' crying pleas for something to help his hurting addiction, the man had to quickly leave. Not sure if it was guilt or simple empathy towards the young elf, Warren was unable to stand on the other side of the iron door listening to the Sin'dorei beg in Thalassian. He felt his chest cavity sink at the memory of Deimos' yells for help, claiming he was going to perish without mana.

Thankful that the current situation was strikingly different, the warrior gave a grateful sigh. He briefly wondered if perhaps the elf had been wrong in the three day request; perhaps needing more time. However, he figured the Sin'dorei knew his culture and people better than a human, and would respect the rules Deimos told him. Nodding to the guards standing on each side of the cell door, Warren gave a small nod of his head. Interpreting the gesture, one of the soldiers moved forward to unlock the door. The key turning in the lock echoed off the walls, filling the silent room with its noise. The door opening with a creak, the warrior hesitantly stuck his head inside the room; his hand instinctively falling on the hilt of his sword resting on his hips.

Sitting on the thin mattress on the other side of the small cell was Deimos. Barefoot and shirtless, he sat cross legged in a meditation pose, his arms resting lightly on his knees. His blonde hair was messy, his face and chest dirty. Closed lids slowly opening to inspect the new sound, Warren was greeted with the familiar unnatural green eyes meeting his brown ones. The young elf's face was calm and serene; contrasting to the yells and screams he emitted only a day ago.

Unsure how to interpret the paladin's posture and expression, Warren reluctantly entered the cell; keeping a ready hand on his weapon. He had never seen a blood elf detoxify so he was unsure what to expect from the paladin. After roaming his eyes on the elf's body for any self-inflicted injuries, the warrior turned his gaze to the pile of empty water jugs on the side.

"I drank all the water my first day."

Raising a curious eyebrow, Warren shifted his weight on his feet while he regarded the young elf. Deimos continued sitting on the mattress, he kept his gaze on the man. Watching the Sin'dorei swallow hard, the man gave a sigh. "You must be thirsty. Are you done with your… time out?"

Smirking at the word usage, Deimos pulled himself to shaky feet. Scratching the nape of his neck in thought, the young elf glanced around the cell. "I think so. I don't honestly know though. I've never had to detoxify before."

Crossing his arms over his chest, the man cocked his head to the side in irritation. "So you don't even know if this actually worked?"

Shrugging sheepishly at the man's question, the young elf licked his lips; trying to get the needed moisture to his mouth. "I've heard of other blood elves doing it."

Rolling his eyes at the boy's response Warren heaved an impatient sigh as he watched Deimos inspect the stoned floor with his eyes. "Well, how do you feel? You're no longer yelling for mana so that's a good sign, right?"

Grinning at the sarcastic comment from the warrior, the elf nodded. "I feel pretty good. Worn and thirsty but level headed."

Nodding at the young elf, Warren turned on his heels towards the door. He gave a hand gesture towards the open doorway to the elf. "Good enough for me. We'll get you some water and a bath. As much as I'm sure you want to sleep, the king requests an audience with you. If you want, I can see if he would see you tomorrow instead."

His bare feet not making a sound against the marbled flooring, Deimos gave a sigh of relief as he exited the cell. He longed for fresh air and liquid in this quenched throat, his limbs begging to be stretched and used. Glancing at the guards standing dutifully on each side of the iron door, their gazes blank and unreadable, Deimos gave a small wave and smirk to them. "Sorry for all the yelling, boys."

The guards promptly ignored the young elf's comment, their expressions not alluding to even acknowledging him. Instead, they kept their gazes fixed forward. Shaking his head the lack of reaction, Deimos gave a deep sigh as he turned to the walking man beside him. They maneuvered through the stoned passageways, Warren giving a small tap on the elf if he took a wrong turn. "No, I can see the king today. Just… let me get something to drink."

Lifting a surprised brow up at the elf's submissive attitude, Warren skeptically eyed him while they turned down another corridor. "Are you sure? You don't want to bathe first?"

Shrugging at the man while he ran a hand through his cropped hair, the paladin shook his head. "Doesn't really matter to me. The sooner we can get it over with, the faster I can get some decent sleep."

Mutely nodding in response, the warrior began to direct their movements through the Keep towards the kings meeting room. Warren knew, based on the hour, the sovereign was likely in his advisors meeting. He was unsure what the king wanted to discuss with the young elf, but the man assumed it pertained to the Horde's attack three days ago and Deimos' actions. The two continued walking through the stoned fortress in silence, each having thoughts running through their minds.

Pausing outside two identical walnut doors, Warren nodded a greeting to the guards standing with weapons drawn, on each side. They returned the salutation, their grips on the swords never faltering. Turning his eyes to the paladin, Warren nodded at a stoned bench against the wall. "I'll check if the king's ready to see you. Take a seat and I'll have someone bring you some water."

His own gaze resting on the bench, Deimos gave a small nod as he moved towards it. He wasn't sure how long the meeting would take, nor did he care, the only prospect he looked forward to was sleeping and getting a decent meal. After being locked in the cell for three days with only water, the elf felt his stomach protest from the lack of nourishment. His head ached from hunger pains; the sound of the walnut doors slamming shut only agitating the pain behind his eyes worse.

Turning his head, Deimos watched a young page emerge from the shut doors, a glass of liquid in hand. Hesitantly, the boy approached the elf with great reluctance. Chewing the bottom of his lip, the human slowly approached the amused Sin'dorei.

"Here you go," the boy addressed the elf, extending his hand holding the glass forward. "Commander Steele said to give this to you."

Grinning at the nervous page, Deimos accepted the cold glass thankfully. "Tell him I say, 'thank you.'"

Relieved when the elf retrieved the glass from his clutches, the boy turned on his heels and retreated back into the closed doors. Smirking at the anxious page, Deimos downed the cool water; reveling in the moisture that pleasured his dry throat.

Glancing around the empty passage, Deimos leaned his elbows forward on his bent knees as he replayed the past events in his mind. The Horde had been forced to retreat; the reinforcements cutting their numbers down swiftly. Again, a failed attempt on his life by the faction. This time, however, it had involved more than simply trolls. Tauren, undead, and orc had taken up arms against the paladin; alluding to the notion that the rest of the Horde was involved in the assassination on his leader. However, the raid three nights ago was evidence that Lor'themar wasn't killed yet; giving the young elf a small glimmer of hope for his people.

Hearing the open of a door, Deimos lifted his head to meet the passive stare from Warren. The man's face was blank, not offering any clue to the reason regarding the meeting. Holding the door open by one arm, the warrior gave a beckoning gesture with the other to the young elf. With a sigh, the elf rose to his feet to comply with the older man. Reaching Warren, Deimos was surprised when the man didn't budge from his spot in doorway. His brown eyes roamed the young elf's face, a grin spreading on his features.

"You keep surprising me, Deimos." The man began, his eyes taking in the elf's cocked head to the side in bewilderment. "And honestly, I think you surprise yourself."

Unsure of how to respond to the cryptic message, the young elf narrowed his eyes at the older man in confusion, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. The man chuckled at the fidgeting boy, pushing the door open wider to allow Deimos room to enter. "The king will see you now."

Nodding and sending a skeptical look at the man, Deimos was surprised when Warren stood holding the door while he walked into the room. The man made no movement to follow, causing the elf to advance alone. Tearing his gaze away from the stationary warrior at the door, the paladin turned his head at the inhabitants making up the room. There were three tiers to the room, tables set up in an arch on each level with diplomats, advisors, and officers sitting behind them. At the middle facing Deimos was the king, sitting alone. Immediately, the young elf felt all the attention in the room narrow in on him; the hair on the back of his neck standing up in nervousness. Suddenly, Deimos regretted dismissing the offer for a bath; his left arm moving across his bare chest to clasp onto his right bicep in an attempt to be modest. Feeling naked and out of place in the room decorated with Alliance heroes and officers, the elf reluctantly met the king's gaze as a small push on his back encouraged him to walk further into the room.

His green eyes meeting the king's steel ones, Deimos watched as a small grin spread across his face. Watching with astonishment as the king pushed his chair out from under him, the young elf squinted his eyes in confusion as Wrynn stood to his feet. The advisors and officers, their expressions calm and tranquil, also followed the same fashion; their gazes locked on the elf's bewildered face. Hesitantly moving forward, Deimos had to focus on the movement of walking, the strange spectacle putting him on edge. Glancing at several of the faces looking down at him, the paladin was taken back as those meeting his gaze tilted their heads forward in a respectful manner. Realization dawning on him at what was going on, the young elf whipped his head around to glance at Warren. Leaning up against the door, arms crossed over his chest, the man had an amused grin on his face and a mirthful glint in his eyes. Reaching the elevated king, Deimos turned his attention to the sovereign as he took his seat; the other standing figures following shortly after. He had been paid a sign of respect by the Alliance.

"Deimos Ares'mar," the king's baritone voice bellowed down to the young elf, who turned questioning eyes to the sovereign. "It wasn't long ago that you were in this same position during your trial." Pausing to glance behind the elf standing before him, Wrynn gave a quick smile to the figure waiting at the back of the room. "We all naturally assumed you would be given a death sentence for your crimes; you being a Horde soldier. But we were wrong."

"You surprised us all by sacrificing your escape plan to save my son, the crowned prince of Stormwind. You put your own life at stake to ensure his safety. As a king of a nation, I found your actions peculiar but admirable. As a father, I was impressed and forever in your debt for my son's life."

Shifting nervously from one foot to the other, Deimos darted his eyes around the room. The calm expressions watching him didn't waver, their interested gazes holding his panicky one. Swallowing hard at not knowing where the king's speech was headed, the boy turned his attention back to Wrynn.

The sovereign gave a tight smile. "I altered your sentence to reflect your honorable actions for my son's life. You accepted them, however reluctant you were with the terms, which I'm sure you figured out the reason for the length of the city arrest. I had assumed the three months would pass by without any problems; but I was wrong."

"You accepted Warren's hospitality, with some bumps in the road of course; and even made friends with Alliance members. You never tried to escape once, though I don't doubt you were planning something. You complied with the rules, most of the time, to the surprise of many of us."

Pausing to inspect the curious expression on the elf's face, the king continued. "Then, three nights ago, you bypassed all previous prejudices and judgment we had on you. You took up arms against your own faction, who was trying to kill you, but you didn't capitalize on the situation. Again, you sacrificed your chance for escape to fight side by side Alliance members. You saved a roomful of soldiers, including myself, by taking part of a taboo ritual in your culture, making yourself vulnerable."

The sovereign roamed his steel gaze over the elf's blank expression as he listened to the speech. "You have, yet again, surprised me, Deimos. And now, it's time for me to show my gratitude back to you."

Brows together in confusion, the young elf fidgeted his weight from one foot to the other. A speech of this caliber was the least thing he expected; a quick 'thank you' perhaps, but nothing of pomp. Whipping his head to the back of the room, Deimos shared a quick glance with Warren. The man had a slightly different expression; he still had a small grin but his eyes were different. Losing their mirthful appearance, the brown orbs swirled with an emotion Deimos longed to see directed at him his entire life; proudness.

"It has become aware to me that the Horde is in the midst of alienating your race from the faction; seeking to destroy your people from the inside out. While I initially wished to take advantage of a civil war from the Horde, I've had a… change of heart." Grinning at the nervous look in the elf's eyes, Wrynn leaned forward on his elbows.

"I, King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind, hereby pardon you, Deimos Ares'mar, of your offenses that we found you guilty for previously. You're sentencing has been revoked; your name has been cleared. As of this hour, you are a free elf."

Widening his green eyes in surprise at the man's words, Deimos darted his eyes around the room; looking for any expressions alluding to trickery. Not finding any, he was rewarded with calm and amused eyes looking back to him. Turning around with speed, the young elf sent surprised eyes at Warren. Looking back to the elf, the older man gave a smirk at the boy's reaction. Brows together in confusion, the Sin'dorei turned his attention back to the king. "Th-thank you. I don't know what to say."

Chuckling at the young elf's reaction, the king eyed a piece of parchment in front of him, his eyes glazed with thought. "Go back to Silvermoon City, Deimos. Warn Lor'themar about the Horde."

An excited smile going across his fair features, Deimos felt a surge of emotions rush his body. He wanted to say and do so many things; though his mind couldn't seem to form the words. "When can I leave?"

Eyebrows up, the king leaned back in his chair while crossing his arms over his chest in amusement. "Anytime you want. You're no longer a prisoner here. I would suggest getting some rest first though; Silvermoon is quite the distance from here; even with a gryphon."

Brows together, the paladin regarded the man with a confused look. "Gryphon?"

His grin turning into a smile, the king leaned forward, his eyes inspecting two envelopes resting on the oak table in front of him. "Yes. We're going to give you a gryphon to help with part of the trip. Though you can't take it the entire way to Quel'Thalas, it should make the trip significantly shorter than horseback."

His green eyes boring into the steel gray ones from the king, Deimos gave a respectful tilt of his head to the sovereign. "Thank you. I'll leave tomorrow morning."

Nodding his head at the response, the king hesitantly lifted the two closed envelopes in front of him. He moved his gaze from the addressed envelopes to the eager and thrilled elf in front of him. "I want you to bring these back with you. One is from Matheus Williams; describing the meeting of the trolls in the Burning Steppes. The other is for Lor'themar Theron." The king paused, placing both envelopes back on the polished wood, a small smile on his face. "The Sin'dorei were once aligned with the Alliance, our races fighting next to each other with ease; very similar to your actions three days ago. The Alliance is willing to accept the Sin'dorei back into our faction, with some negotiations of course."

The smile still on his face, Deimos nodded his head in thought, digesting the king's words. The meeting had taken a very strange turn; though he couldn't say that he was particularly upset with the outcome. The thought of joining the Alliance seemed rather foreign and odd to the young elf. However, his mind was running a mile a second; the thought of returning to Silvermoon dominating his thoughts. He would finally be able to go home; inform his people of the impending attack. Turning around to spare a quick glance at Warren, Deimos was rewarded with a grin from the older man; his eyes still boring the same proud look to them. Averting his green eyes downcast, the young elf couldn't help the small feeling of loneliness at the prospect of leaving the human city. Quickly disregarding the strange emotion, the paladin passed it off as still being taken by surprise from the unexpected news.

* * *

"So what's the first thing you're going to do when you get home?"

Smiling at the question from the rogue, Deimos smirked at the obvious answer while taking a small sip out of the brown liquid in his glass. "I'm going straight to Sunfury Spire to talk to Lor'themar."

Sitting in the Pig and Whistle Tavern, Matheus had declared that the young elf needed 'going away' drinks; a small memory for the Sin'dorei after he left. However much Warren disagreed with the idea, the rogue was adamant on finding some reason to drink heavily; Deimos' leaving being the most logical and convenient. Not being allowed to order a glass of wine, the paladin was forced to toast his pardoning and departure with bourbon. The night was growing late, the usual inhabitants leaving half sober as they stumbled into the streets. Warren, regardless of his discomfort in the situation, had reluctantly forced himself to stay.

Rolling his eyes at the young elf, Matheus leaned back in his chair. "Well, yeah. I mean _after_ that."

Shrugging while he inspected the glass in his hands, Deimos offered the man a small smile. "I don't really know. Probably get a decent meal for the first time in months..."

Lifting an unamused brow, Warren sighed at the boy. "Decent, huh? Hey, we could have easily put you back on the Stockades diet. A slice of bread and water a day sounds reasonable to me."

Smirking at the man's sarcasm, the young elf shrugged again. "To be honest, I haven't really given it much thought."

Watching the rogue with amazement as he gulped down the glass of booze, Warren shook his head at the man. He would no doubt be stumbling out of the tavern. "Visit with family? Tell your father what a terrible host I am?"

Silently chuckling at the comment, Deimos gave a small shake of his head. "He's most likely not there. He's probably still in Northrend. I suppose I can always meet up with the battalion there. If not, guess I've got the house to myself till he returns."

Grinning ear to ear at the paladin, Matheus leaned in closer to him. The rogue's movements became sloppy and his breath reeked of alcohol. Deimos shared an amused look with Warren as he leaned away from Matheus. "Is it a big house? You're old man's out of town; it's the perfect opportunity for a welcoming party for yourself."

Lifting an amused brow at the slurred words, Deimos blinked at the man. "Right. Then a priest would have to resurrect my dead body so my father could kill me a second time. No thanks." Pausing while he eyed the tavern, Deimos gave a small shrug. "I'll probably leave for Northrend. Try to meet up with the company."

Smirking as he watched Matheus gesture to a barmaid for another round, Warren gave a disbelieving shake of his head. Eyeing the still half filled glass in front of the paladin, the older man crossed his arms over his chest while he leaned back in his wooden seat. "What do you think will happen with your race? Think they'll join the Alliance?"

Shaking his head in thought, the young elf gave the older man perplexed look. "Definitely won't stay Horde, that's for sure. Relations were forced as it was. But who knows? Maybe."

Nodding, the warrior allowed his gaze to linger on the paladins face for several beats; Matheus' intoxicated form swaying on the other side of the table. "It wasn't that long ago that we were aligned together. Many of my friends were Sin'dorei at one point. I would gladly accept the race again."

Grinning at the man's words, Deimos swirled the vile liquid in the glass. "Do you think we'll see each other again?"

Brows together in thought, Warren gave a small sigh; a poignant smile going across his face. "Most likely not. Even if your race joins the Alliance, I doubt our paths will cross. Your company is based in Silvermoon; mine is here."

"Then that's another reason to drink more! C'mon, Kid. You're glass is still filled and we've got another round coming up."

Silently laughing at the drunken rogue, Deimos glanced down at the glass in question. True, the liquid that filled it was vile and disgusting; his throat burning when he tried to swallow it. But still, the paladin found himself actually happy to comply with Matheus' wishes ; his head leaning back while he downed the repulsive alcohol. His face grimacing and eyes watering while the burning booze traveled down his throat, the young elf was aware of the laughs from the humans sitting next to him. Smirking at his own inability to drink the strong bourbon, Deimos felt a foreign emotion in him; similar to the one at the Keep from earlier that day. Though he wished to return to his home city, a small part of him longed to stay as he was; laughing over drinks with friends. Such a custom was never done in Silvermoon; the paladin filling most of his time with training and practicing. Being able to release and laugh was an addictive sensation; one which tore his emotions and thoughts in odd ways. Shaking his head, the Sin'dorei passed it off as the alcohol affecting his system. For a blood elf to wish to stay in a human city was ridiculous; the booze must have been the product of such thoughts.

* * *

"The gryphon can only take you as far as Arathi Highlands. You'll land at Refuge Point; an Alliance outpost. Show Captain Nials the letter from the king to make sure she doesn't kill you. From there, you'll have to travel horseback the rest of the way. There should be horses for you to borrow at Arathi."

"I can summon my charger."

Nodding at the young elf standing beside the sitting gryphon, Warren eyed the large sword on the paladin's back. The sun had only just begun to grace the city with its glorious rays, the dew on the grass shimmering under its brilliance. Deimos had promptly packed a small backpack of supplies; much of which Warren insisted he take along: potions, an overabundance of water and fel ore, and wrapped up rations of food. Giving the young elf a plated chest piece in case of any altercations, the older man was surprised at the ferocity the paladin displayed when donning the armor. He had only seen the boy decorated in plate once; when they had initially met at the Burning Steppes. "From Arathi, you'll have to travel up through the Eastern Plaguelands to Quel'Thalas alone." Pausing to take a deep breath, Warren placed a strong hand on the boy's shoulder, his eyes boring into the anxious green ones looking back at him. "Be extremely careful. Make sure to stop at Light's Hope Chapel to rest and replenish any supplies you may need. But once done there, travel fast and stay on the roads. I know there are short cuts off the main roads but, for once in your life, try not to be arrogant and take them. You don't stand a chance against a horde of soldiers from the Scourge."

Rolling his eyes at the older man's stern tone, Deimos crossed his arms over his plated chest with a cocky smile. "C'mon, Old School, are you really lecturing me right now?"

Pursing his lips at the egotistical attitude, Warren gave an aggravated sigh. "I'm serious, Deimos. Do not try anything brash." Pausing to rub a hand over his tired face, the warrior continued. "From there you should be fine with getting back to Silvermoon City. Try to stay away from Horde aligned cities or outposts. I doubt they've gone public with trying to wipe out your race but don't take any chances."

Impatiently nodding at the man, Deimos shifted on his feet eagerly; a smirk on his face. "If you keep going on like this I'm not going to make it to Arathi until tomorrow."

Rolling his eyes at the keenness in the boy's voice, Warren opened his mouth to commence his speech to the Sin'dorei. A small blur on the side of his vision caught his attention, his head turning to see a miniature figure wrap its arms around Deimo's legs. Glancing at the young elf, the older man smirked at the awkward and surprised expression go across the paladin's face.

"Deimos! I-I was vexed if I would be able to exchange valedictions before your most unpleasant departure. I'm going to very much miss your presence, no matter how pessimistic and cynical it is!"

Brows up in utter shock at the small gnome that attached itself to his legs, sobbing on his leathered pants, Deimos hesitantly patted her back. Glancing at the older man's amused face, the young elf was completely at a loss for what she said to him. "Lena, um, I'll miss you too."

"She's been begging to come say good bye all morning."

Whipping his head up at the new voice, Deimos' curious green eyes met glowing blue ones; the high elf approaching the gryphon platform with a very reluctant and worn looking Matheus. A tight smile on her face, Elsharin brushed a loose strand of blonde hair out of her face as she stopped in front of the questioning blood elf; his posture immediately tensing at the close proximity. Lena, feeling the new presence behind her, turned her water-filled eyes upwards, glancing between Deimos and Elsharin.

Her hands hanging limply against her purple and white robe, the mage trainer gave a small sigh, her usually solemn expression softening. "I heard what you did at the Keep." Pausing as the paladin cocked his head to the side questioningly, the high elf grinned at him. "Maybe I was wrong about you."

Chuckling at the woman, the Sin'dorei crossed his arms over his chest arrogantly. "Bet it was torture saying that."

Promptly ignoring Deimos' comment, Elsharin slowly leaned forward; wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders into an embrace. "Be safe."

Brows together in confusion at the high elf's odd and friendly behavior, the paladin hesitantly returned the enduring hug; his arms cautiously enclosing her smaller form. "I always am."

Breaking the embrace, the high elf spared a quick glance at Warren; who stood on the side with an entertained smile on his face. Lena, still utterly confused, darted her eyes between her trainer and the blood elf; her wide eyes filling with water yet again.

"Alright, Kid. Time to say good bye to me. If you even think about hugging me though, I'll kill you."

Smirking as the hung over and miserable rogue stepped forward, Deimos took in Matheus' blood shot eyes and green hue to his cheeks. "Bad hang over?"

Shrugging with a wave of his hand, Matheus scratched the nape of his neck. "Nothing I'm not used to." Pausing, the man eyed the younger elf's amused face; his own expression cracking into a smile. "Alright, Kid. Come here."

Chuckling as Matheus pulled him into a sloppy hug, Deimos had to stop himself from gagging at the smell of booze still lingering on the rogue's body. "You know, I'm still kind of sorry about the whole Burning Steppes-poisoning-you thing."

Pulling away from the rogue, the young elf gave a small smile at the man. "I'm not."

Smirking knowingly at the elf, Matheus gave a sigh as he clamped a hand on his shoulder. "If you learned anything in these past couple months in Stormwind from me, it's about women. So, you have to promise me one thing, kid; that you'll finally get laid and stop being a virgin."

Immediately, Deimos felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment; his eyes darting to Elsharin. A small smirk on her face, she lifted an amused brow. Silently cursing the rogue, the paladin turned his attention back to the man with a sigh. "I wish you the best of the luck with all your… girlfriends."

"Deimos, you better get going. You've got a long journey ahead of you."

Turning his gaze to Warren, the older man moved in front of the rogue; who promptly leaned against a stoned wall in exhaustion. Though the warrior had a blank expression on his face, his eyes gave away the saddened feelings inside of him. Grinning tightly at the elf, Warren allowed his eyes to roam the paladin's face. The elf's eyes still held the anxious and impatience swirl to them; nearly covering up the affecting emotions. Sighing, the older man thought back to when he first saw the unnatural green eyes look at him; they held much anger and contempt during their first meetings. It was strange and eerie how fate had twisted their destinies so; the green eyes no longer harboring ill-feelings towards him but instead warm and kind emotions. He remembered their encounters in the Stockades; the arrogant and cocky smile that seemed to always know how to get on his nerves. The man had thought he made a mistake when offering to house the blood elf; but fate again had a different idea in mind. The warrior had grown fond of having a companion in the dwelling; though the brash attitude from the boy had its moments.

His grin turning into a smile, Warren pulled Deimos into a tight hug; utterly surprised when the young elf returned the embrace with vigor. A small voice encouraged the older man to increase the hold. "Thank you, Warren. For everything."

Pulling away, the warrior smiled gently at the elf, his eyes taking in the saddened green eyes looking back at him. "You're a good kid, Deimos, and one hell of a soldier. Silvermoon is lucky to have you. You are always welcome here." Pausing to glance at the waiting gryphon, who fidgeted impatiently, Warren turned his eyes back to the young elf. "You better get going. _Al diel shala_." (**Safe travels**)

His eyes lingering on the man's face, Deimos tore his gaze away from him as he picked up the bag resting beside the winged animal. Sighing while placing it on his back, the young elf turned to glance at the waiting and somber faces watching him. Lena stood close to Elsharin's legs, her lips quivering as sobs racked her small body. The high elf kept sending concerned glances towards the gnome, her gaze occasionally looking up to meet Deimos' with a small smile. Leaning against the stoned wall, Matheus had his arms crossed while he gave the elf a half grin; his eyes showing his sorrow at the leaving paladin. Standing with his arms hanging limply at his sides, Warren's face was troubled; a sad smile on his face.

Swinging his leg over the large gryphon, Deimos sent a smile to those watching him on the platform. An unfamiliar sensation swelled in his chest, the same that was at the Keep and tavern. In two months the paladin was able to form more companionships than he was ever able to his entire life in Silvermoon. He laughed more times in the past eight weeks than he did in the twenty years. The emotions building up, Deimos was finally able to pinpoint them; regret and grief. While he longed to warn his people of the impending attack, he couldn't quell the feelings of regret at leaving the human city. Feeling his eyes tingle, the young elf knew that if he was going to leave, he had to do so soon; and not look back.

* * *

"We'll have Williams rendezvous with Neilson in Valiance Keep. From there, they can travel to Wintergrasp for the reconnaissance."

"Perhaps we should have a caravan journey with them to the border. They'll most likely run into resistance along the way. Reinforcements can ensure their survival to the drop point."

Sighing at Marcus Jonathon's suggestion, Warren leaned forward as he eyed the large map of Northrend on the table. Discussions and reports were being conducted regarding the approaching reconnaissance assignment that Matheus was to perform with a fellow soldier. Running a hand down his tired face, the warrior was growing tired of the mission already. The meeting had commenced at early dawn; recesses and breaks were kept to a minimum to ensure a speedy process. Unfortunately, the officers and king couldn't seem to agree on key aspects to the operation; the cause of the lengthy conference.

It had been nearly one month since Deimos' departure; and not a word from Silvermoon had reached the human city. It was made public that the Sin'dorei had declared themselves no longer part of the Horde, the race seemingly going neutral; giving evidence that the paladin had made it to Quel'Thalas safely and warned his people. While the king contemplated sending another letter to the leader of the blood elves, his council advised to wait several months before hailing Lor'themar again.

"No, they're both rogues; they should have no qualms crossing the border unnoticed. A caravan would just needlessly draw attention to them. I don't want to risk the mission."

Nodding at the man, Marcus sent a quick glance at the king, who also nodded in understanding. "I'd like to deploy the rogues early next month. The recon should only take four to five weeks at most for them to complete. Is that time frame good for Williams?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Warren gave a small nod of his head. "That's fine. I'm not moving the company for some time so his availability is vast."

Opening his mouth to reply, the general was cut off when the closed walnut door to the windowless meeting room burst open. All the heads whipped around to take in the panting guard gripping the door frame; the officers dutifully pulling their weapons from their sheathes in anticipation for a brawl. Standing up from his seat shakily, the king pursed his lips in preparation for the guard's ill news.

Swallowing hard while futilely trying to catch his breath, the soldier eyed the weapons drawn from the officers. "My king, the blood elves have sent an ambassador seeking a council with you."

Brows up in surprise at the words, Wrynn glanced uneasily at the officers around him. Warren, though allowing his posture to relax considerably, kept his hand gripping the sword's hilt. Marcus seemed to strengthen his clasp on his own weapon, his eyes roaming the king's face. "Your highness, we haven't received word from the blood elves regarding a diplomat; how do we know this isn't some sort of ploy?"

Rolling his eyes at the man, Warren answered before the sovereign had the chance to. "What benefit would the Sin'dorei get from that? They're neutral as it is."

Growling in frustration at the warrior, Marcus set his jaw at the man. "You'd be foolish to disregard such possibilities, Steele."

"Men," Wrynn began, moving from his position at the head of the table to towards the confused soldier in the doorway. "You will accompany me to welcome the ambassador; just in case there is such a scheme."

His hardened gaze challenging Marcus to attempt to begin another quarrel, Warren nodded at the sovereign. Hand still gripping the sword, the warrior followed Wrynn and a cluster of soldiers out of the meeting room. Silently, the man pondered what the diplomat was sent to discuss. Perhaps the Sin'dorei wasn't going to accept their offer to join the Alliance; the ambassador simply coming to tell them the answer in person. Would the diplomat be rude and discourteous to the humans? Similar to the older generations of humans, adult elves were very much aware of the prejudices the two races had against each other; more so the humans against the Sin'dorei. Still, there were ill-feelings between the two races.

"He's coming to the Keep now."

Sighing at the soldiers warning, Warren figured the human's would respond as much to the ambassador. Deimos' presence in the city was difficult enough; the main reason for him having to have a guard at all times. To see a blood elf waltz into the city walls must have been quite the spectacle for the citizens to see. Running his hand over his face, the other still gripping his weapon, Warren prayed to the Light that whatever diplomat the Sin'dorei sent wouldn't be difficult in dealing with.

Pausing at the entrance to the fortress, Warren instinctively squinted his eyes at the setting sun on the far horizon; the intense rays rendering him nearly blind. In the distance, the man could vaguely make out the silhouette of a tall figure walking towards the Keep and a handful of soldiers escorting the individual with swords drawn. Squinting further, Warren was able to make out a weapon resting on the ambassador's back; though the offending sunlight hindered his ability to make out what type it was. Sending a questioning gaze at the king standing beside him, the warrior was rewarded with seeing an amused smile on Wrynn's face. Bringing his brows together in confusion at the odd behavior from his sovereign, the warrior turned his attention back at the approaching diplomat. The figure stepping a stretching shadow from a nearby building, Warren felt a laugh leave his lips as he was finally able to get a glance at the ambassador's face.

Reaching the small group of officers and the king at the entrance of the Keep, Deimos gave a wide smile. Motioning to the Stormwind guards still encircling him with weapons drawn, he addressed the humans. "So, is this the welcome a diplomat gets?"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Warren eyed the young elf in front of him. His clothes were a mess, his blonde hair riddled with dirt and debris. The long sword resting on his back was had dried blood on the edges, giving evidence to the long trek the paladin took. Lifting an amused brow at the elf, Warren gave him a smirk. "_You're_ the ambassador? You look like shit."

Rolling his eyes at the man, Deimos crossed his arms over his chest; the smile on his face never faltering. "It's nice to see you too, Old School. I'll have you know I rode the entire way here." Eyes widening as he remembered his purpose, the young elf pulled a crumpled up envelope from his inner pocket. Chewing his lower lip, the elf futilely tried to flatten out the crinkles and creases on the important package. Satisfied, Deimos thrust envelope towards Wrynn. "Here. This is from Lor'themar."

"You have got to be the _worst_ diplomat ever."

Rolling his eyes at Warren's comment, Deimos sheepishly scratched the back of his head as the king inspected the abused package between his fingertips. "Yeah, sorry about the, uh, state it's in. At least it dried in time."

Lifting an amused brow at the young elf, the sovereign grinned as he opened the sealed envelope. "I'm sure I'll be able to decipher the message somehow."

"If not, I can always tell you. Lor'themar already told me what it says."

The group stood in silence as the sovereign scanned the pages of parchment in his hands; his eyes furiously examining the writing. Warren kept sending quick glances at the young elf; who was more interested in pulling various debris out of his hair.

Sighing heavily, the sovereign glanced back up at Deimos; who inspected a leaf in his fingertips that once rested in his blonde locks. "This says that you're the assigned ambassador from Silvermoon."

Tossing the leaf to the side, the young elf nodded. "Yeah." Pausing while he shifted from one foot to the other nervously, Deimos gave an uneasily sigh. "What does that mean exactly?"

Smirking at the elf, the king folded up the pieces of parchment. "It means you reside here until you step down, or," pausing while his ran his eyes up and down the filthy elf, the sovereign gave a small sigh, "until they assign a more… politically-savvy ambassador."

Nodding at the king, Deimos gave a small grin. "Works for me." Turning to Warren, he offered the warrior a cocky smile. "What do you say, Old School? Mind if I shack up in your house again?"

"Actually," Wrynn began before the warrior could answer, "we set up housing for all of the ambassadors in the Keep."

Raising his hand to pause the king, Warren gave a small shake of his head. "Unless you want to sabotage our relations with the other races, you don't want him in the Keep; believe me. I'll take him."

Nodding at the warrior, the king turned back to Deimos; hesitantly picking the right words. "The letter says that the Sin'dorei wish to open negotiations with the Alliance to possibly unite. Do you know if they'll be setting up any dates for a possible conference?"

Shaking his head, Deimos shrugged. "Not that I know of, sir. They didn't mention anything to me."

Glancing down at the folded pieces of parchment and ripped opened envelope, the king gave a small smile. The thought of the blood elves joining them, had it been six months prior, would have sounded ludicrous and absurd. The prejudices and hate between the races ran strong; the two taking up arms against each other. But now, the prospect of forging a union with the race seemed feasible and rather compelling. Never would the sovereign had expected that such a sequence of events would lead to a new race joining the faction. Ironically and strangely, it began with the trolls and one simple, young elf overhearing the plan of treason.

_Fini_

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**Because you all are such amazing readers, I've included a little excerpt from chapter one in my sequel. I don't want to give away anything but this story focuses _a lot_ more on Deimos' personal life and his struggles. It's darker and more emotional than the first but, from what my editor tells me, it's better. I hope everyone likes it! **

Smiling at the bright sun that began to spread its rays over the landscape, Warren Steele hoped the bright weather would lift the spirits of his battalion. Having not seen action in months, he knew the soldiers were getting restless; which almost always spelled disaster in the barracks and practice. Drills and duels became sloppy, their movements lethargic from the lack of exercise. However, the older man hoped the increase in duration on the practice fields would help remedy the problem. Readjusting the plate armor resting over his chest, the warrior moved under a stoned archway towards the forested training grounds.

Though the day was being graced with the sun's light, the late fall wasn't kind to the citizens of Stormwind. The freezing temperatures froze the morning dew to the blades of grass, frost covering most of the forest. Thankfully, the warrior knew the drills would be sufficient to keep the soldiers warm through the day; fully expecting to see members of his battalion shedding clothing despite the frigid temperatures. Grinning to himself, the warrior looked forward to the drills he had in mind for the company.

Reaching the open forested space, Warren glanced at the multiple lines of soldiers standing in wait for their commanding officer. A thick aisle was created in the middle of the area, rows of individuals on each side of the walkway facing it. A proud smile spreading across his face, the commander glanced at the two lieutenants waiting patiently in the middle of the aisle before gazing at the nearly two hundred standing soldiers. Pets stood dutifully next to hunters, their eyes focused on their masters' face in wait for a command. Warlocks talked in hushed whispers to waiting minions, while warriors stood stoic faced.

Walking forward, all the attention was drawn to the older man making his way down the formed path. Immediately, the soldiers stood upright, their postures tensing and hands going up to their foreheads in a respectful salute. The waiting lieutenant's gave a slight tilt of their heads at his presence, their faces blank and unreadable. Readjusting his sword resting on his hip, Warren allowed his eyes to scan the silent opening in the forest while he walked down the aisle. Taking in the uniformed stance of the soldiers, the commander felt his brows go together and a heavy sigh leave his lips at a lone individual in the front row.

Stopping his walking at the blood elf, Warren tilted his head in impatience at the boy. Arms defiantly crossed over his naked chest, the elf wore nothing save a towel wrapped around his hips, a golden earring in his left pointed ear, and a ruby pendant on a chain around his neck. His posture was leaned to one side, annoyance and infuriation seeping from his stance. His jaw was clenched in anger, his shoulders unable to hide the shivers that raked his body.

"Ares'mar," Warren began, sighing as rage filled green eyes met his inquisitive brown ones. "I'm interested to see how you plan on practicing in only a towel."

A quiet chuckle next to the elf caused both Warren and Deimos to whip their heads at the man standing beside the paladin. Matheus Williams, rogue and friend of the Sin'dorei, quickly turned the laugh into a cough; turning his head as he brought a hand up to conceal the mirth on his face. Gritting his teeth at the lack of support from his friend, the young elf turned his eyes back to the older man. "Maybe you should ask the bastards that stole my clothes."

"At least they gave him a towel this time," a voice behind the elf sounded. Snarling in anger at the comment and reminder of a previous hazing, the elf whipped around; his fist swinging through the air. Satisfied when he felt his punch connect with the priest's nose, Deimos prepared to unleash another fist before a strong hand grabbed is raised arm.

"That's enough!" Warren strong voice bellowed at the young elf, dropping his grasp on his upper arm. Deimos, anger and embarrassment causing his fair cheeks to burn, turned back to the older man. Readjusting the wrapped towel, the paladin shifted his weight from one foot to the other in an effort to return blood flow to his freezing bare feet.

Opening his mouth to address the young elf, Warren distractedly noticed a young man run behind him, embarrassment and panic on his face. He gripped a polearm in one hand, the other arm supporting the shifting plate armor on his chest from his running. "Sorry I'm late, Commander Steele." The human boy paused, a smirk going across his face as he glanced at Deimos. "Looking good, Ares'mar."

Seeing red from the remark, Deimos took an aggressive step towards the laughing human; a firm hand placed itself on his chest to stop his advancement. Warren gave the angry elf a disapproving look before turning to regard the chuckling human. "One mile, Leanith. Now."

The boy gave a sigh at the punishment though the amusement and mirth never left his eyes. He eyed the furious elf once more, the smirk never faltering, his eyes seeming to attempt to send a hidden meaning to the elf. His eyes were darkened with mockery and amusement, making Deimos mutely wonder the underlying intent. A sly smile going across his face, the young man turned away from the elf as he commenced his mile run punishment.

His eyes roaming Deimos' body, Warren took in his crossed arms over his chest in an effort to maintain heat in the freezing air. His frame shook with shivers, a blue tint reaching his pursed lips. Running a tired hand over his face, this was not the way the man had planned the day of practice to begin. Turning to the patiently waiting lieutenants, he addressed them with a firm voice. "Start the roll call and drills. I'll be back."

Satisfied when the second in commands gave a brisk nod of their heads, Warren gripped the young elf's upper arm to beckon him forward. "Let's go before you get sick."

Walking besides the shorter man down the makeshift aisle, Deimos gritted his teeth when catcalls and whistles erupted from the waiting soldiers. He kept his green eyes downcast, refusing to meet the stares boring into him, while the lieutenant's chastised the soldiers. Warren seemed to pick up on the elf's discomfort, increasing his pace out of the forested training grounds. Taking a turn into a stoned doorway to the large complex of barracks, the warrior spared a quick glance at the young elf. His eyes still focused on the floor, shame and embarrassment were etched on his fair face. Raising an eyebrow when Deimos sniffled as they entered the building, Warren gave a sigh. "Are you sick? Do you need to see a priest?"

Shaking his head, the young elf kept his gaze on the limestone ground in front of him. He gave a quick glance at the man as they passed other battalions' barracks, making their way through the passageways towards Warrens'. "No, I'll be fine."

"Deimos, I understand why you want to stay in the barracks but," Warren paused, hesitantly trying to select words. "It's not working out. The men aren't ready to accept you quite yet."

Swallowing hard, the paladin shook his head in disagreement, a small grin spreading across his features. "I'll be fine. Or are you that lonely at the house that you miss me?"

Shaking his head at the sarcastic comment, Warren had to admit to himself that after living with the elf for three months, he had gotten used to his presence. While he was initially thrilled at the prospect of Deimos moving out of his own home and into the barracks, the warrior soon began to regret it. The hazing to the young elf became progressively worse; starting with little pranks, like his sword being glued in its sheathe. However, the men had increased their vigor in the jokes; Deimos attending the drills naked or mana deprived from someone stealing his fel ore. "Move back to the house. We can try this arrangement later; once the men have gotten used to you."

Eyeing the man skeptically, Deimos gave a shrug of his shoulders. "I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

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**Let me know what you think! **


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